


Fódlan Girl from Thedas

by MelonPalooza



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dimension Travel, F/F, F/M, M/M, Not Beta Read, There's too many characters to tag so just assume everyone's here!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2020-09-28 00:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20416940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelonPalooza/pseuds/MelonPalooza
Summary: If Byleth was to be honest, she had spent more years in Thedas than she had in this world. And yet now, she would not dream of a world without her precious students. So least to say it tore her unbeating heart to pieces as she saw them at each other’s throats in this horrific war. Something in her snapped, as she called out to the Fade. Suddenly, the entire Field of Gronder shook as Byleth’s vision turned to white.





	1. The Irony of Blood Magic (It’s a Pun)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth befriends a Witch of the Wilds
> 
> (aka, the exposition chapter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly do not know where this plot came from, but here it is, guys, gals, and non-binary pals.

Byleth knew that her father was an apostate. He does not try to use his magic, but there were slip ups here and there. There were moments when sometimes scrapes were healed instantly, and how sometimes there just so happens to be a lucky strike of lightning that struck against a bandit that got too close to her. So even if he didn’t tell her he was an apostate, her father did not hide it from her, either. 

Once Byleth accidentally set her doll on fire, however, it left her with the undeniable knowledge that she too was an apostate. There was an interesting expression on her father’s face that day. It was a mix of sadness and pride. She might’ve been a kid, but she knew why. There were only two fates for people like her, people with magic that is. They were dangerous people, you see, and your only choices were to submit to the Chantry, or to hide as an apostate. And her father could never accept the former life for her. 

He had been in a Circle, he had told her, long before she was born. There were a lot of rules for one, and the templars were ever so vigilant, eyeing him as if they were already demons. Even the children were treated no better. At times, they were even treated worse, like an explosive that could detonate at the drop of a hat. He never got to see his parents again. Byleth could not dream of such a thing. 

He was actually well on becoming the First Enchanter, he had boasted. But one little study on Blood Magic and you had all the templars up your arse, he joked. So what did her father do? He stole his phylactery—tracking devices, he explained—and spirited away to a different world. Which was ironic, he had mused, for the act of blood magic was used to create the phylacteries in the first place. And the act of blood magic was used to teleport him, too.

He told Byleth of how different that other world was; magic was not condemned for one thing, but it was a different kind of magic—so unlike their own and something anyone can learn of their own volition. Her dad almost sounded delirious at the notion, commenting how blasphemous it sounded to him at first, to subject yourself to such a fate? But the magic truly was different—how it was not taboo in any regards. 

There was no chance for you to lose control and turn yourself into an abomination. There was no demon or spirit that can take over your mind because you had a lapse in judgement. It sounded like paradise in comparison to the fear mongering propaganda that is so widespread in Thedas. She had heard of babes being separated from their family like her father was, not even remembering the faces of their parents. Not even knowing where they had come from. Not even knowing their_ identity_. It was something Byleth could strangely relate too, but she did not know why.

There were no fear of being stripped of your magical power forcefully in the other land, he had said. Which would have sounded nice in Thedas, if only to escape the fear of your life being endangered at all times of the day, a road to rid of a horrible existence and to be allowed to live freely—but it wasn’t. To take away a mage’s magic in Thedas was a fate worse than death, her father had told her. 

Your connection to the Fade was cut and in turn all your emotions are severed. You would be no more than a walking doll, unable to defend yourself and mindlessly followed orders all day. Byleth had wondered aloud if she was like those people—a Tranquil—and her father told her to never compare herself to them ever again.

“I can tell, kid. You have more emotion in a day than they do for the remainder of their lives,” he told her as he brushed her hair. Byleth did not know how to react to that statement. Her father started to train her in magic, giving pointers on keeping them hidden when around others, especially templars. It didn’t matter, he had told her, if they were nomadic or not—the Chantry still had the power to take her in. 

Once, in a town she does not remember the name of, Byleth saw a Tranquil with an arm full of parchment being escorted across the square. Some kids started to pester the Tranquil, slowing him down by dragging on his robes. Instead of berating the kids, the templars simply sniggered at the display. 

“See? I told you they don’t react,” a boy around Byleth’s age commented. 

“Really? Not even if I do..._ this _?” his peer challenged, body slamming the Tranquil from behind. This caused the Tranquil to fall over, scattering his documents everywhere. There was not even an ounce of verbal reaction as his body landed on the muddy cobblestoned grounds. 

This finally stirred a reaction from one of the templars, a not-so-vehement, “Hey!” The words had barely any bite behind it. The children all but shrieked from feigned fear and ran off, giggling at their mischief. Byleth took a few steps towards the parchments to help the Tranquil, but was stopped by the other templar, earning her a glare. The Tranquil gathered back his parchments in silence, blinking only once or twice, his face completely devoid of emotion. She decided not to tell her father about this incident. 

Thedas was different from the other world, he had told her, but sometimes it was very much the same. The nobility had everything, which was like saying water was wet. But the nobles in this other world had possession of things called crests. Nasty little things in your blood that made you excel in combat. It was magical, to say the least. Another irony in the scheme of things, her father expressed his opinion. How one world basically relished in a form of Blood Magic and another condemning its existence. 

She was a native of that other world, he told her. So she asked him why they left. He patted her hair and looked at her with such sadness in his eyes that she wished she took the question back. There was a disagreement that unfolded between him and a powerful person, he confessed. Her life was in danger and they needed to hide. What better way to hide then to jump into another world, altogether? Byleth could not fault that logic, but she wondered what it would have been like to have grown up in the other world from time to time. 

Byleth would occasionally have weird dreams too, which is apparently common to those with magic. Sometimes it was of a battle she did not know the name of, where a maiden stabs a man to death on a barren field with hundreds of onlookers. Sometimes it was a young girl with vibrant green hair, sleeping on a stone throne. Those were not typical mage dreams, her father informed her. Sometimes it was a hazy green plane, tugging at her subconscious. That was the Fade and it was a very common occurrence even amongst those not magical (sans the dwarves). 

But they were more vivid now, and her father had warned her to never talk to anyone in those dreams. Once she swore she saw an elf in one of said Fade dreams. He was talking to someone, a spirit, she recognized. But he turned in her direction too fast, startling her out of her dream. She doesn’t remember much from the dream aside from a wolf necklace. 

* * *

Jeralt—her father’s name, which she just learned—had to go back to the other world. Only for a short while, he had assured her. He gave her a kiss on the forehead, his beard scratched her face in the process. It tickled. He was dropping her off at a friend’s in the Korcari Wilds. Byleth had no idea that her father even had friends. Flemeth was her name and she looked _ haggard_. 

Old clothes that looked more like rags adorned her body. Her hair was matted with the occasional stubborn lock that poked out of her head. Which made sense, in a way, there was no one around but she and her daughter, so what was the point of keeping up with appearances? Flemeth seemed perplexed at first, apprehensive even—at the notion of keeping track of another child. But Byleth’s quiet demeanor earned her good graces with the witch, even allowing her to help make dinner on occasion. 

Speaking of Flemeth’s daughter, her name was Morrigan. She looked to be older than Byleth by several years and was already a prodigy apostate. Byleth had arrived when Morrigan was not home, and when they met for the first time, Byleth could not help but stare. There was something about her that caught Byleth’s attention, the witch’s golden eyes drawing her in. That unfortunately elicited a negative reaction from the young witch, as she visibly recoiled at Byleth’s stare. 

Morrigan was barely around after that, but when she was, there was always an air of tension between the two. Byleth never initiated conversations first, and Morrigan replied in kind. One day when Byleth was airing the laundry (something very hard to do when there was never any sun) she saw Morrigan return in the shape of a crow before reverting back to her human form. 

“What are you looking at?” Morrigan had sneered. That was when Byleth realized she was staring. 

“Does it hurt when you transform?” Byleth asked.

Morrigan clicked her tongue in annoyance, “It does not.”

Silence. 

“Do you wish to learn?” Morrigan finally asked. Byleth nodded her head. Morrigan let out a puff of air at that, blowing her bangs out of her face. But there was a small smile underneath that act of annoyance. _ Cute_, Byleth found herself thinking. That was how they spent their days with relative peace. Until finally one day, Morrigan asked her a question that took her by surprise.

“What are towns like?” She had asked Byleth, voice full of wonder. 

Byleth cocked her head, “They come in various sizes, filled with buildings, people, and animals,” she explained. That was all she could think of at the moment. They were nothing to write home about, but when she saw Morrigan’s eager eyes, Byleth forced herself to recall all she could about the subject. “The buildings are made from stone or wood, and they are taller than trees. Sometimes, people stack them on top of each other to make even taller buildings, connecting the floors between them with wooden stairs. They are so large on the inside, that you can dance in it without fear of bumping into anything. The floors sometimes have these carpets that are soft to the touch with the most intricate designs despite its purpose.”

“Tell me about the marketplace,” Morrigan whispered, inching closer to Byleth. She was curled into a ball, knees close to her chest. 

“The ground is made from stone as well, and it gathers mud between the cracks. Numerous stalls made of wood are placed around the space in mostly a circle, with merchants calling out for you to buy their wares. Some of the stalls are also carts—with wheels on them for easy transport. They would display their items on the carts for you to buy, and some even hang their goods on hooks. There are also merchants from other places that come in, with exotic goods that reflect colors from the sun.” 

Byleth told her of the time she held a necklace next to her wrist and watched the colors dance across her skin. She told her of glassware that created rainbows out of thin air. There were spices that made her throat hurt, but when added to food it created a sensation that was like no other. Animals that were meant to be food were kept in cages and you can tell when you get near them because the smell was pungent in the air. Not to mention the hay that was scattered everywhere in that location. 

Also the noise, the _ noise_, the loud ringing of children laughing and dogs barking. The chickens clucked without a care in the world as the adults haggled in prices. There was the occasional thief that serpentined themself throughout the marketplace, looking for easy targets. The bells of the chantry can always be heard from the marketplace, and on occasion Byleth could hear the songs of the choir resonate within the air, drowned out by the sounds of the world outside their walls. 

She told Morrigan of what the inside of a Chantry looked like. How it was cleaner than most other buildings, with rows of pews that were uncomfortable to sit on. She explained how the giant stone statues adorned the halls towered over her and how the giant glass windows depicted imagery that was lost on her. The sisters of the Chantry had on immaculate robes of red and white, some with funny hats that stayed on their heads no matter what. 

Morrigan listened with great earnest. She was so close to Byleth now. Her eyes were closed, as if she was envisioning Byleth’s words into reality—ingraining them into her memory. Byleth in turn was staring at her fluttering eyelashes. 

When her father came to pick her up, Byleth was filled with joy, which resulted in a slight upturn of her lips. That joy was morphed into fear when she smelled blood in the air. 

“Are you bleeding?” She asked him. He replied with collapsing at the front door, which earned him a miffed Flemeth, who lifted him up with her magic to rest him on one of their cots. The blood was not his, Flemeth had told her, and he was tired from over exertion—probably due to whatever spell he had used to get to her. Byleth stayed silent, not sure of whether to tell her about the other world. The young girl chose not to say anything in the end. 

Flemeth undressed and washed Jeralt’s body as he lay sleeping, muttering under her breath during the process. Byleth could see a white tattoo in an insignia she did not recognize on his back. The marking was covered in blood, which if she squinted, seemed to have bled into the tattoo. Byleth was tasked at washing his clothes, which was a challenge because she never had to clean anything this soaked in blood before. Morrigan kept looking in her direction, wanting to say something to her friend. She never did.

It took two days for her father to wake up again, and then they left just like that. 

Morrigan refused to say goodbye. Byleth did not understand why.

* * *

“How do you know Flemeth?” Byleth asked her father. He was holding her in his arms despite her protests that she could walk by herself. 

“We just kept encountering each other throughout our lives. Eventually, we realized we had similar circumstances and began to unload our problems with each other. I think she’s older than me, actually,” he told her. Byleth blinked at that, unsure of what to think. “Let’s just say she has her secrets and I have mine.”

“Ah,” Byleth said, as if she understood what was being said.

“We have boundaries that we respect, but that does not stop ourselves from helping each other from time to time. Most of the time we do it without question, which is probably going to end up going sideways one of these days,” Jeralt chuckled grimly.

Byleth nodded like she understood what he meant. (She didn’t, really.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't posted in years and the second I realized there's no tabbing, I screamed.  
This came out of nowhere really. You should see the number of tabs I have opened because I haven't play Origins in a while.


	2. Blood Magic Part II - Electric Boogaloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blight happens and all Byleth wants to do is find her dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: writes niche crossovers nobody ever asks for  
Also me: nobody's reading it :(

Byleth was in her mid teens when it had happened. Darkspawn started appearing on the surface in droves. The Blight, as they called it. The Fifth one (lucky her). Attacks were becoming more frequent, and it was obvious that Ferelden was the source. Which was a bad thing, considering they were in the damn country. 

They had initially wanted to stay safe, and right now they were at Denerim. Well, _ she _was in Denerim, idly waiting for her father to come home. Despite being an apostate, her father had agreed to be hired along with the rest of his mercenary group to be part of King Cailan's army. The big army formed to defeat the Blight at Ostagar. The one that shouldn’t have needed to hire merc groups in the first place, or so she thought. 

Numbers were probably more important—maybe. Who knows, she wasn’t the king. That was the plan, a solid plan that could save lives. Fate, however, had other cruel, cruel, ideas in store. Someone had betrayed the King, from what she had gathered. And now all chaos is wrought loose. 

Gripping her sword tightly in one hand, Byleth strides out of the inn she was staying at. She should have gone with her father, she thought bitterly, tightening her grip on her sword. But no, she was too young, or something ridiculous like that. She made her way to Ostagar, ignoring those that called her mad. It did not take her long to make her way to Lothering, the halfway point between Denerim and Ostagar. She did not sleep at all on her journey, yet she did not feel tired in the least bit. She only had one goal in mind, and that goal was to find her father. 

Darkspawn were ugly creatures, she learned. They looked like decaying corpses and they smelled just as bad. Their blood was a black ichor and some twisted part of her brain told her to drink it. Like fill a goblet with it and pour it down the hatch like it was fine wine. You know the voice, don’t act like you don’t. That silent one that tells you to throw a prized possession into the sewers or to stick your hand inside a metal trap. Stuff like that that one ignores but otherwise would totally do if they had no impulse control. It must have been hours since she had started hacking and slashing at the darkspawn, even saving a few people in the process. Many give her a quick thanks and others run away from her in fear. Her face wasn’t that bad, was it? 

From a distance Byleth could see a group of people, two of them were wearing the royal army’s armor. Joy—there was a slim chance one of them knew where her father was. And right beside the smaller of the two she could instantly see the recognizable templar armor. _ Joy_. But with more sarcasm this time. Byleth jogs up to them like it was the most natural thing in the world with all the chaos around them.

“Excuse me kid, who are you?” A lithe black haired woman accosted Byleth. The woman was taller than Byleth (which was not an accomplishment, she was shorter than most people) and had a fit physique, equipped with dual blades that Byleth had to resist the urge to touch. Did she know she had blood on her nose? Did _ Byleth _have dried blood caked onto her face?

“Byleth,” she replied curtly, titling her had ever so slightly to express her curiosity. “Would you happen to know of a mercenary named Jeralt Eisner? He was part of King Cailan's army.”

“Can’t say I have, kid,” the rogue shrugged. She turned her attention to the templar, who seemed to have suffered an injury to his arm—who was hiding it very poorly, leaving Byleth with the rest of the group. They were probably the rogue’s family, Byleth concluded. Their appearance were too similar to say otherwise. One of them was obviously a mage, if the big hunk of wood strapped to her back had anything to say about it. In front of her—her brother, probably—stood defensively with his sword drawn. Did Byleth look that intimidating? Behind the two siblings was another woman, older than the rest of the group, with a steady gaze on Byleth. 

Actually, it was not on Byleth, but it was something behind her. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she swung her blade at the adversary, no doubt catching them off guard. It was lodged into the leg of an ogre that stood at least three feet above her. For a fleeting moment, she thought how amusing it’d be if she jumped on its head and stabbed it in the face a few dozen times with dual blades. But because she was not dual wielding blades, she opted for another method. 

Channeling her magic through her sword, Byleth sent a wave of lightning straight into the ogre’s bloodstream, successfully electrocuting it from the inside out. It was partially cooked by the time Byleth was done with it, with the smell of cooked darkspawn meat emitted to the air. It was unpleasant, to say the least. The ogre roared an agonizing scream, flailing its axe around blindly—the shock had made its grip on its weapon tighter and temporarily caused it into losing control of its limbs. When it finally regained some of its motor skills, the hulking beast swung down at Byleth, only for her to side step away from the attack. 

“You’re a mage?” The girl asked her.

“No, that must have been an enchanted weapon, right?” The brother asked. 

“Fight now, questions later,” Byleth ordered. The brother bristled at the command, probably unsure if he should listen to this sassy child that was younger than him. This caught the eldest sibling’s attention, who gave Byleth a glance before crouching down and doing what Byleth wanted to do in the first place. With a swift jump, the blood marked rogue secured herself around the ogre’s neck before absolutely stabbing the living daylights out of the creature. The brother finally snapped out of his damaged ego trip and charged at the creature, hacking it at the other leg that didn’t have Byleth’s sword embedded in it. The sister took a cue from her siblings and sent fireballs at its chest. She was careful enough to avoid unnecessary targets that were no doubt making it harder for her to attack. 

When the darkspawn was finally dealt with, Byleth retrieved her sword from its leg, having still being lodged partway through its trunk of an appendage. Her sword was fully encased into the creature, yet she had not hit bone. “Both,” she said suddenly.

This gave a curious reaction to the siblings. Did they forget their questions already?

“It was both,” Byleth clarified. “This is an enchanted word,” she held it up for them to see. Byleth then gave it a swift swing to get rid of the darkspawn blood on the blade before sheathing it once more. “And I am a mage,” she rested a hand on her collarbone to emphasise her person. 

The sister looked absolutely giddy at the notion of meeting another apostate. “Byleth, was it? I’m Bethany,” she reached out her hand and Byleth took it. She nodded in acknowledgment at her fellow mage before turning and walking away. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Well, I’m looking for my father, Jeralt. And none of you seem to know his whereabouts. So the most logical thing for me to do is to look for him elsewhere,” Byleth told the group.

Bethany was about to step a foot toward Byleth before being held back by her brother, who shook his head disapprovingly. “It is dangerous to be alone at a time like this, Byleth! Join our group, it’ll be safer this way,” she called out to the younger mage. Her brother breathed a sigh of annoyance. The templar pulled a face she knew all too well. This face earned a glare from the rogue and the brother, practically saying, _ go on—try, see what happens _.

Byleth thought of the proposition, weighing its pros and cons. A yell alerted her to the presence of incoming enemies. Hurlocks, she was told they were called, a whole unit of them. They came barreling towards them in organized disarray. All who were able morphed into a fighting stance. Byleth’s brain raced a mile a minute, coming up with a strategy to get out of this situation. She was interrupted by a roar in the sky. 

Was it the Archedemon? Thank the Maker it was not, but a smaller dragon. She thinks smaller in relativity to the Archedemon (she assumed) but it was in fact a huge dragon—a high dragon to be specific. But unlike the others of the group, Byleth was not fazed by the sight of this dragon, for she recognized it immediately. With a powerful breath of fire, the high dragon wiped out the army of hurlocks, allowing the group to easily take care of the stragglers. The dragon landed on the edge of a cliffside, eyeing the group with a curious stare. 

Despite the groups’ chorus of protests, Byleth ran towards the dragon, weapon sheathed of course. She knew who it was, and it was not an enemy. As she reached the edge, the dragon morphed back into the woman she knew from her youth, the one and only Flemeth. No longer looking like she was on the verge of dying, the woman before her was elegantly robed, with the most absurdly intricate of hairstyles that defied gravity. 

The ederly woman cupped Byleth’s face gently, “My, how you have grown, Byleth.” She leaned into the hand with earnest. Byleth was not starve touched by any means, but it was nice to feel the contact of another person that was not her father.

“Bethany, can you do that?” The rogue called out to her sister, who scrunched up her face with judgement at the question.

“You know I can’t,” Bethany replied.

The rogue clicked her tongue in bitterment, “Then what’s the point of magic?”

“So, I take it you two know each other?” The brother asked. The templar in the back looks like he is going to blow a gasket with all the apostates showing up in front of him. Flemeth chuckled at the question before reverting her attention back to Byleth. 

“Your father is with the Grey Wardens, along with Morrigan,” Flemeth answered the question that was not asked. 

“What? Some of them are still around?” The rogue asked, bewildered. This time the brother looks like _ he’s _ the one that’s going to snap, with being ignored and all. 

* * *

Byleth had left the group she was with for a total of twenty minutes. They had different goals, after all. She was on the search for her father, while the group only wanted refuge from the Blight. Most of the group, Bethany especially, had argued for her to come with them, for it was far too dangerous for her to stay behind. Byleth adamantly refused. Whether it was her expressionless stare or her stubbornness, she did not know, but the group reluctantly let her leave with Flemeth.

Before she left, however, a tragedy occurred. From her position she could see the templar fall over, and it didn’t take much for her to put two and two together for the conclusion. The gash on his arm was the source of the problem. His skin was sicklingly grey, his expression was gaunt, and black veins started to appear on his skin. He looked delightful. That was sarcasm. 

_ “He’s been tainted,” Byleth simply said as she walked back to the group. There were no fanfare in her words, just the truth that cut like ice. “He will have to be executed immediately.” _

_ “What? No!” The shorter armored person said with great distress. She had freckles, with red hair and the greenest eyes Byleth had ever seen. The woman had a demeanor that screamed serious business. But right then she was a mess with huge stress. She was now crouched down next to the poor soul, whispering something into his ear. Was the templar someone dear to her? _

_ “If you hesitate now, he will only suffer,” Byleth pointed out. _

_ “I know,” the redhead breathed. “I know that-” _

_ “Would you rather I do it?” Byleth offered. _

_ “Or me?” The rogue chimed in. _

_ “N-no-,” The warrior exasperated. “No, I’ll do it.” _

And that was that. The memory stirred something within Byleth she did not recognize. It was unpleasant, the best she could describe it. But she decided to put that memory aside to unpack later as she and Flemeth made their way to Lake Calenhad. She finally had a destination. Her father was helping the Grey Wardens to bolster their forces. There were apparently only three left, and it was because Flemeth had rescued them. _ How lucky_, Byleth had thought. 

Or unlucky? Byleth could not imagine being burdened with such responsibility. The fate of an entire country was on their shoulders. If they failed, the Orlesian Grey Wardens could probably stop The Blight, but at what cost? The entirety of Ferelden would have already fallen. 

It did not take long for her to catch up to them, and as the Circle Tower loomed over at the horizon, Byleth felt the pit in her stomach flip seven times over. Flemeth had dropped her off on the road feeding directly into Lake Calenhad, with an expression (can dragons emote?) that seemed to be saying, “_this is the farthest I will take you”_. Byleth did not turn back as Flemeth took off to return to her hut in the wilds. 

Somehow Byleth had threatened her way across the lake to the tower. As she was rowed over, she began noticing how it was such a strategic play to plop a tower of mages in the middle of a lake to avoid escape. It was sickening, but brilliant. For a brief moment, Byleth wondered what life in a Circle would be like. The robes would no doubt be a delight to walk in, and you were fed and taught in a professional environment—but Byleth could not fathom being in a life under the thumb of the Chantry. She had heard stories of what transpires in The White Spire, of how mages were thrown in dungeons and left _ to die_. And no one was there to mourn them. There were rumours that in Rivain the Circles were simply structures to appease the Chantry, with the mages allowed free reign in their lives.

But it was so...close to Par Vollen, and that was another egg to crack. Magic in the Qunari lands were reviled to the point that mages were seen as tools, weapons of mass destruction. They were chained and their mouths were sewn shut, only allowed to walk when their powers were needed. And the Qun was so good at ingraining these ideologies that the mages would rather take their own life than be free.

And then there were countries that relished in the magics. The Tevinter Imperium. Nobility, corruption and magic were so intertwined that there were no lines at all between the three. Not to mention slavery was still live and well between its borders. Basically, Thedas sucked for mages through and through, so Byleth will remain an apostate, thank you very much.

Getting in the Circle Tower was another obstacle Byleth had to deal with, and she had no solution for that. The doors would not open for her, because the Right of Annulment was underway. If her heart could beat, it’d be sent into overdrive right about now. If they found out her father was an apostate, they no doubt will kill him too. And Morrigan. _ Morrigan_. 

Without properly planning ahead, Byleth froze the doors of the Circle Tower with the Hand of Winter. She could hear surprised chatter on the other side of the walls. With the stonefist spell, Byleth knocked the doors down from where it once stood. The giant hole she created carried a breeze into the tower with her as she entered, where all eyes were on her. 

The templars were on her in an instant, but she had experience with bulky armored titans like them on numerous occasions. She knew the drill. Byleth surrounded herself with Elemental Chaos as she easily weaved in and out of their attacks. She paralyzed them one by one with glyphs in the process. Of course, being templars, the effect the spell had on them were shorter than what she would have liked. But she was quicker, and she reached the end of the room far faster than the templars could hope to catch her. 

“Let me in,” she told the mages that were holding up the barricade.

“I-I can’t let you do that,” a senior enchanter stammered. 

Byleth grabbed him by the scruff of the robe, causing a portion of the barricade to falter. Children screamed at the potential likelihood the barrier was going to collapse. “Let me in.”

“Just let that witch go in,” one of the templars said. “She’ll get herself killed and that’ll be one less one of them for us to take care of.”

Another templar berated her comrade. “What if she becomes an abomination, you dunce? Then it’ll be one _ more _ thing we have to kill.”

“Who cares? She’d be dead either way.”

“See? You can hardly argue with that logic,” Byleth actually lifted the senior enchanter above the ground, adding to her threatening factor. 

“Okay, okay, _ fine, _” he hissed, “Go in you crazy wench. You’re not the first to go in today.”

Byleth unceremoniously dropped him, which wasn’t far—a couple of inches give or take. Soon, the barrier closed after her and there was only silence. There was now only a couple hundred or so abominations between her and her father. She would weep with joy right about now, if she knew how to cry.

* * *

The top of the tower felt like static on her skin as she appeared from the staircase. Her father was there, clear as day, only several feet in front of her. An abomination was leering close to him now, so Byleth threw out a chain lightning spell, which ricocheted off several enemies—hitting a human mage with important looking robes at the end of it. Oops. 

“Byleth?” Jeralt screamed over the discourse happening in the room.

“Papa,” she replied back, practically leaping into his arms. 

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Denerim,” Jeralt berated her, patting her head.

“Let’s leave, papa. We should leave,” Byleth urged her father. Did he not want to show her the other world, like before? He had promised. 

“I made a mistake, kiddo. I can’t leave,” Jeralt said quietly. 

“What-”

“Not to mean to break up this heartfelt reunion, but we have a situation on our hands!” a warrior with blond hair and tan skin screamed at their direction. 

“I’ll tell you later, I promise,” Jeralt whispered into her ear. And then he was gone once more from her grasp. With no time to idle, she too regathered herself and joined the fray. 

* * *

It was a blur when it was all over. There was a lot of talk about things Byleth did not understand. What she could glean from what was happening however was that thankfully the Circle Tower was _ not _being annulled and they had somehow agreed to help with the Blight? Huh, fascinating. Byleth’s footing was unstable now—the exhaustion finally catching up to her. Her eyelids started to droop against her will as the world turned dark.

* * *

Byleth woke up to the sound of a horse drawn carriage as she opened her eyes. Her muscles ached and she did not want to move from the comfort of the blanket that was on top of her. But the sudden thought of her father allowed her to suddenly sit upright, frightening the dwarf that was beside her. 

“Enchantment?” The dwarf asked with a grin on his face.

Byleth shook her head, “No, thank you. Do you know where my father is?”

The young dwarf pointed to the lump next to her, which turned out to be a really buff blond human that was her father. Byleth was content enough to cuddle next to him, listening to the heartbeat that she knew she didn’t have. 

“Ah, so you’re awake, lass?” a booming voice alerted her of the driver of the caravan. Reluctantly, she sat up once more. She was taught it was rude to lie down when someone was talking to you. “Your father was adamant that you weren’t dead despite the lack of heartbeat. Guess he was right. Good news to me, you know. Having not just dragged a dead body on the roads next to my merchandise is good news to me that is.” 

The stranger let out a hearty guffaw, “Name’s Bodahn Feddic, by the way. And you’ve met my son, Sandal. Introduce yourself, Sandal.”

The young dwarf turned to her again and nodded, “Enchantment.”

“Byleth. Byleth Eisner,” she said, unsure of what to do with the endearing young dwarf in front of her. She had the urge to invite him to a tea party? She wants to pat him on the head?? She wants to gift him flowers, he was so precious???

“Huh, looks like we’re setting up camp up ahead. You should introduce yourself to the rest of the party, lass. They were quite worried for you. Especially the pouty one with the brooding lips.” Morrigan?

Sure enough, when the camp was set up, on the outskirts of the rest of the tents by a good hundred or so yards was Morrigan’s own—alone and quite frankly, looked kind of sad.

“The snoring couldn’t be that bad, could it?” Byleth hadn’t meant to spook Morrigan, but judging by her flinch at the sound of Byleth’s voice, she did just that. 

“Oh, Byleth. My friend, you are alive,” Morrigan smiled at Byleth. She came up to the younger mage and they both embraced in a hug. “I knew that you did not have a heartbeat from when we were kids, but I could not help but imagine the possibility of the other reality.”

“You can imagine how many times I’ve scared Papa from when I get knocked unconscious during spars and such,” Byleth mused, a ghost of a smile on her lips. 

“Is it wise for you to stand so soon after waking up?”

Byleth shook her head, “I’m fine, truly I am.” Her eyes lingered at the rest of the party at the fireplace so far from Morrigan’s tent. She looked at Morrigan once more and was caught with a lump in her throat. The woman before her was beautiful. Her golden eyes could still pierce your soul as same as ever, but now they were contrasted against the smokiest of purple eyeshadow. Her lips were painted dark in color, drawing attention to her words as she spoke. “On second thought,” Byleth said before quickly snatching Morrigan’s hand in hers and dragging the witch to the fireplace. 

“Byleth-” Morrigan tried to wrench herself free from Byleth’s grip, but the younger girl was stronger. It was wholesomely unfair. 

“Ah, so the cruel witch of the wilds has a soft spot after all,” a young blond cooed at Morrigan as she approached the campfire. Morrigan’s cheeks began to blush (it was hard to tell against the fire) but she did not let go of Byleth’s hand. It was the same blond as before, at the top of the Circle Tower. He was there during their confrontation with one of the ugliest demons she had ever seen. He wore Grey Warden robes and had the cheekiest of smiles. His ears were pointier (ever so slightly) than most humans so Byleth wondered if he was elf-blooded. 

“I have concluded that it would be beneficial for all of us as a team to bond around this campfire,” Byleth said. “_All of us_. Together.”

“Ugh,” Morrigan groaned.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea!” A young elf chirped. He was in the mage robes of the Circle Tower. Another apostate? A conscripted mage? Even with the fire dancing across everyone’s features, the elf’s eyes still glowed eerily in the reflection of the moon. “Alim Surana,” the elf introduced himself.

“Byleth Eisner,” she replied. 

“Alistair,” the blond that had snided at Morrigan before said.

“No last name?” Byleth questioned. She knew not everyone felt comfortable giving out their last name like candy, but she wanted to tease him for trying to make Morrigan feel bad. 

“No,” Alistair sniffed. 

“I have a theory that it is something super embarrassing,” Alim whispered loud enough for Alistair to hear. “Like Copperbottom.”

“Or Gobbledick?” Byleth added, earning a suppressed laugh from Morrigan, who is very much looking away, trying very much so to not meet Alistair in his eyes. 

“It is no such thing!” Alistair reprimanded the group. He pointed to another girl that was sitting besides him, with hair as red as fire and clashing pink robes of a Lay Sister. “What about Leliana? She’s not willing to give a last name, either!”

“Ah, but you see Alistair, a lady is entitled to secrets,” Byleth cooly covered for Leliana, who she can now see is trying to cover her smile behind her hand.

“Then what about Sten?” Alistair pointed to another person that was stationed further from the campfire. When did he get there? Why are there so many people in this party already. “And Wynne is sleeping in her tent.” 

Byleth looked curiously at the hulking stature that was Sten. Even though he was further away, Byleth could see the metallic silver skin of his figure. “He’s a qunari. Sten is not a name, but his rank in the army.”

“Wynne is also a lady, is she not?” Leliana decided to join in added fuel to the fire. She had a thick Orlesian accent that could make a lute cry. “Or are you suggesting otherwise?”

“You guys are all bad people,” Alistair pouted, receiving a consoling pat on the shoulder from Alim. Alistair looked up to Byleth then to Alim. “You two are the only ones with last names in this group.”

“Quite frankly, I doubt it. But this was all in good fun, Alistair—is that a malbari?” Byleth’s attention got sidetracked as she saw the unmistakable face of Ferelden’s best friend. The squishable cheeks...the pointy ears...the powerful tail. He was perfect and beautiful. 

“His name is Barkspawn,” Alim informed her.

“You’re really good at names, Alim,” Byleth noted as she scratched the good boy between the ears like he deserved.

“It was my idea,” Alistair grumbled under his breath. They talked idly with no real topic in hand. Byleth however did notice that when she said she liked to garden—or would like to, considering her nomadic lifestyle and all—Sten’s attention was piqued. Interest jotted down and saved into her memory bank. Around the time Jeralt was finally awake, Morrigan was already having a conversation about _ gold jewelry _of all things with Leliana. Byleth saw the opportunity of finally having alone time with her father and excused herself. He was leaning on the trunk of a tree near their tent and Byleth took her place beside him.

“You promised an explanation?”

“I became a Grey Warden.” he replied. 

“Ah,” Byleth replied as if she understood. What?

“I got careless and one of them got a jump on me,” Jeralt began to explain. “This happened before the battle itself, mind you. Which is all types of embarrassing but I would rather not talk about that right now. I saw that I was beginning to get tainted, but lo and behold, we were right next to Ostagar and they just so happen to be begin doing the Grey Warden ritual, so I thought _ ‘why not’ _and asked to join in.”

“Hmm,” Byleth hummed._ Why not, indeed. _

Jeralt eyed his daughter with a side glance, “I know what you’re thinking.”

“No, you don’t,” she denied.

“You’re thinking about what the ritual is like.”

“And?”

“It’s a secret, kid.”

“Who am I going to tell?” There was silence. “Does it involve blood magic?”

“Well, now,” Jeralt chuckled, obviously thrown off by the question. “Yes and no?” 

“So,” Byleth breathed, “blood magic, huh?”

Jeralt nodded, “It’s certainly is a winner, isn’t it?”

They both let out a sigh. This was going to be a long journey. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pacing got a bit rapid at the end there, but I wanted to wrap the chapter up with the last scene. The reason why I did not add Hawke's party into the tags was that they do not show up later in the story. Not to mention no one besides Bethany introduced themselves. Also I don't remember much from the sloth demon thing because I actively block it out of my memory - so excuse my lack of writing that part.


	3. Blood Magics Part III: Baby & Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth meets more companions, developing a personality for better or worse. Relationships are complicated, and sometimes they leave you just a little bit hollow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to fit a 60 hour game in a chapter was tough, so there is a lot of time skips highlighting moments. There is no Shale as I've never recruited them. Their DLC never worked for me :'^)

Redcliffe was an eerie experience. Her father was the first to notice that something was off. Walking corpses was a thing they had to protect the town from. Also Alistair’s last name was Theirin? So he was a bastard prince. Huh. Going to put a pin in that. Conversation topic for later when it was bonding time, and not currently surviving zombie time. 

“How come you’re not leading, Alistair? You’re ranked higher in seniority, amongst the Grey Wardens, are you not? Besides, you’d think you would try to get the best out of this situation, practicing for the future and all,” Byleth questioned him just after he told them of his lineage. 

Alistair shook his head, “Your father is more experienced than I am in leading. I myself am more of a follower than a leader. Besides, I don’t intend to take the crown.”

Byleth’s eyebrows shot up at that, but she did not comment.

Dwyn was easy enough to intimidate to join forces against the undead. When his thugs and him reluctantly left to reconvene with the knights, Byleth decided to loot the backroom he was so keen on staying locked in. Hey, he was an asshole. There, she found a well crafted Qunari blade, earning a whistle of appreciation from Byleth. 

After rounding up everybody that they could, the team spent an hour or so defeating the undead. It was a pain to both fight and keep the villagers alive, but those that followed Byleth’s orders survived enough, and she was pleased at the results. 

The last person they thought they would meet was Alim’s friend locked in the castle dungeon because he wasn’t that good of a tutor. Also because he was an apostate. _ Also _also because he was a blood mage. Huh. Her father was right about something being off. 

“Why is it always blood magic,” Byleth sighed. They were waiting for Jowan to set up the ritual to rescue the arl’s son, Morrigan and Jeralt were assisting—as well as keeping an eye on the mage least he try to do something that could count as sabotage. 

“Tell me about it,” Alistair said. Sten was admiring the large painting that adorned the room they were in. His back was towards them, but he nodded in agreement to Alistair’s words. 

“Okay, I will,” Byleth had already prepared this speech beforehand. She had a lot of opinions on this topic. 

“That was meant to be rhetorical-”

“First of all, the Chantry is hypocritical to condemn blood magic in the first place,” Byleth started to rant. 

“Why do you say so?” Leliana asked. 

“Because they use it on all the mages they pen up in those Circles of theirs. When a mage escapes, templars use phylacteries—vials of the mage’s own _ blood _—to track them. So what does that say about the Chantry?”

An awkward silence filled the air before Alim replied, “That the Chantry is willing to forgive certain taboo acts if it benefits them.”

Byleth felt her approval rating for the new Warden go up by about five points when he said that, “You are correct.” Byleth nodded. “Also people always continue on and on about how horrific blood magic is without realizing its benefits,” she continued. 

“_Excuse me? _” Alistair scoffed, almost offended. “How would blood magic ever help anybody?”

Byleth’s eyebrows knitted together every so slightly, “Since you’re so smart, templar boy, have you heard of a blood transfusion?”

“Must we speak of this topic?” Wynne pleaded, imploring Byleth to cease the conversation. 

“Wynne, you must realize that not everyone approves of the Circles like you,” Byleth turned to the older woman, holding her eye contact with a distant stare. 

“I’m not naive,” the elder mage muttered. “You would benefit to be more open minded at the prospect that the Circles also help people. They offer haven and education for those most susceptible to possession-”

“Against our will. Imagine what it would be like if mages were treated equal, able to be freely educated in actual schools instead of prisons. How it would feel to not be convinced that your whole existence is wrong and unwanted when you can barely control your budding powers. Imagine how much more productive education would be if it was taught with compassion and support instead of threats on one’s life,” there was a lump forming in Byleth’s throat, which felt like it was on the brim of overflowing. 

“I don’t care how dangerous untrained mages are, Wynne, how can you ever condone a system that takes children away from their families? Do you remember anything about your family, Wynne?Can you even recall what they look like?” The senior enchanter stood shell shocked at her words. Byleth turned to Alim, who flinched at her gaze. “What about you, Alim? Do you remember your family?”

Alim looked down, afraid to meet the eyes of Byleth’s hollow gaze. He slowly shook his head, “I only remember that I am from the Denerim alienage. And that is because the templars told me so.”

Byleth let out a sigh, “Wynne, I know you mean well. But please do not defend the Circles ever again in my presence. I don’t think I can handle the reality of not being by my father’s side.”

It was at this moment that Jowan entered the room, informing everyone that the ritual was ready to begin. 

* * *

Byleth’s first impression of Zevran was that he was talkative. How did he manage to assassinate anyone if he was too busy talking?

Jeralt decided to keep him, despite the protests of some of the party members—especially that of Alistair’s. 

“Don’t worry, Alistair. It would be foolish of him to try to ambush us while we sleep. I sleep with one eye open at night.”

Alistair looked at her as if she had grown a second head, “Byleth, I’m being serious.”

“As am I,” Byleth said. “Besides, Barkspawn will he there to inform us of danger.”

“I feel so welcomed,” Zevran drawled. “It’s as if I am a member of the family, already.”

Byleth did not miss the blush on Alim’s face when Zevran winked at his direction. 

Their journey to Orzammar was uneventful for the most part. Although the city itself was vast and beautiful, the thought of being underground for a long amount of time gave Byleth a sense of claustrophobia. When it was learned that an extended amount of time in the Lost Roads was needed for the mission, Jeralt refused for Byleth to join them.

“I am capable of protecting myself,” she argued. 

“There are too many darkspawn,” Jeralt reasoned, squeezing her shoulder tight. “I don’t want to risk you getting corrupted.”

The party had decided to reduce their numbers for such an occasion, limiting the number to four—five if you counted Barkspawn. Three were Grey Wardens, the malbari was immune to the taint, and they had planned for Wynne to stay in the back as their Spirit Healer. Hey now, _ Byleth was also a Spirit Healer _.

“I think what your father is trying to tell you...is that you are baby,” Zevran told her.

Jeralt coughed into his hand at that. Byleth gave Zevran a look, eyebrow quirked, “Excuse me?”

“He does not want his precious baby daughter to be in a den full of big scary monsters,” the assassin cooed. 

“Hey, change of plans, Zevran is also joining us,” Jeralt ordered. Zevran blanched at the words, but upon realizing Jeralt was not joking, he resigned to his fate. “Think of it as a hazing—to test your loyalty.”

“Oh woe is me,” Zevran drawled, the back of his hand splayed on his forehead dramatically, “A young thing like me will not last long in those caverns. Ladies, I think this will be the last you see of me.” This earned an eye roll from Leliana and Morrigan. Byleth found it amusing. 

“Don’t worry, Zevran, I’ll protect you,” Alim assured him. 

Zevran latched onto the other elf, “Oh, you have come to rescue me, my dear Grey Warden! I am saved.”

“I would say that we were burning daylight, but I doubt that hardly matters down here,” Alistair interrupted the dramafest. 

The party split, Byleth and the remaining party was to return to the surface before they were interrupted by a young maiden named Dagna. She wished to be escorted to the Circle Tower, Byleth was about to initially refuse but Morrigan seemed interested to return, and who could refuse a request from Morrigan? The answer was; not Byleth. 

As it was night time, the team decided in unison that they were to rest until dawn before they began the escort mission. It was also a good time for Dagna to get used to the open sky, benefitting her to be still under it for a time. They did not want her to get reverse vertigo—if that was even possible. At this time, Sten approached Byleth with a question on his lips.

“I don’t understand. You look like a woman.”

So this was a thing that was happening. “Is there a problem with that?”

Sten shook his head, “You look like a woman, yet you command others in combat, much like what the arishok would. It is simply unheard of.”

_ Haha, noo, don’t be misogynistic, you’re so sexy_. Byleth was about to retort negatively, but remembered that this was part of his teachings, “Outside of the Qun, if a commander or soldier chooses to present as a woman, those that fight alongside her will have no say in the matter. If they are a good warrior regardless of their gender, it serves others no right to judge them for who they choose to be.”

“An interesting query, if an incorrect one at that.”

“How about we spar? If I win, you will have to promise to at least consider what I just said. I won’t use my magic,” Byleth said as she wiggled her fingers, allowing frost crystals to dance on her fingertips. 

Sten frowned at the blatant display of magic, “With the way you handle your sword at times, I tend to forget that you are a _ bas saarebas_.”

“A woman also does not like being called a_‘thing_’ to her face. Twice in the same sentence, even. Though being called dangerous is something I do like being called on occasion,” Byleth lifted her chin in the qunari’s direction. 

Sten looked a little surprised at that, “You know Qunlat?”

Byleth shook her head, “Not enough to hold a conversation, but certainly enough to know what I get called.”

“What I called you is simply the truth. To call you otherwise would be a false statement of facts.”

“Are we going to spar or not?”

“What benefits do I get if I win this wager?” Sten asked. “You have your boon, would it be not of fair play if I had one as well?”

“What is it that you desire then?”

“As this all started with my questioning of your leadership, would it not be prudent that I become leader of this group in your stead if I were to overpower you?”

Byleth nodded at the terms, “We fight until one of his yield, do you understand?”

“Yes.” 

Byleth called over Leliana to oversee the match, who sighed as she had heard the wager from the fireplace. 

“Get ready,” she called, raising her hand in the air. “Get set.” Silence. “Go!” The bard swung her hand down, and the match began. 

Sten was faster than Byleth had anticipated, but she had seen him fight. She knew how he operated. The greatsword had no chance to even graze her body as Byleth sidestepped the attack. The young apostate went and tried to slash Sten on the side, only to have it deflected as Sten simply knocked it out of its trajectory.

Okay, that was unexpected. Her grip on her sword was strong and yet Sten was able to swat it like it was a fly. Byleth jumped back a slight retreat to gather her options. Her time to think was limited, as Sten was coming right for her, greatsword at the ready to strike upward. Byleth had no choice but to block with her own sword, which was a tough thing to do considering the difference in their blade size. Sure enough, her weapon was knocked out of her grip, sending it into the sky, landing behind Sten. 

She weaved to the left, baiting Sten before ducking to the right and slipped right past him to retrieve her weapon. Sten was too slow for her and by the time he turned around, she was already armed once more. They charge at each other, weapons at the ready. Sten swung at her head and Byleth ducked underneath the blade. Twisting her sword at an angle, Byleth sweeped at Sten’s feet with no intent to draw blood, but the effect she wanted still happened. 

Sten was knocked off balance, and as he tried to regain his footing, Byleth was already behind him, kicking him behind the knees to force him to kneel. She stepped on his hand that still gripped at his sword, deterring the attempt to overpower her. He loosened his grip, allowing Byleth to cleanly knock the blade from his grasp. Byleth pulled at his ponytail to force him to look up at her as she held her blade gently against his throat. She could swear she saw humiliation slipped from his face to another unknown expression. 

“I yield,” he said. Immediately, Byleth withdrew her blade and let go of his hair. “How are you so talented with a sword at such a young age?”

“I learned from the best,” Byleth informed him. “Now, go to sleep Sten. We wake up early tomorrow.” 

He nodded as he retreated, looking quite refreshed instead of glowering as you would expect. Leliana also decided to turn in as she waved goodnight to Byleth. As Byleth approached her and Morrigan’s shared tent, she was greeted with furrowed eyebrows. Huh, one would think that given their relationships, Morrigan would be the happy one while Sten would be the moody one after her victory. People are hard to read. 

“That was a foolish bet,” Morrigan berated her.

“I think I did well,” Byleth told her. 

“He could have hurt you severely to win.”

“Sten? Nah, he’s a big softie.”

“When we met him, he was locked in a cage in Lothering because he killed a family with his _ bare hands_.”

“Well, he wasn’t using his bare hands to fight me now, was he?”

Morrigan let out a long sigh before commenting, “You could have easily won within the second, if you had used your powers.”

“Ah, but what is the fun in that?” Byleth said.

“If I had not known to read you from when we were young, I would have assumed you were belittling him with that expression of yours.”

“I don’t mean to be patronizing,” Byleth’s eyebrows knitted together with worry.

“Ahah! There’s those micro-expressions of yours,” Morrigan patted her hand. “Come now, my friend. We should be heading off to bed, no?” Byleth nodded, still distracted by her lack of expressions. Was she really that hard to read? Her father and Morrigan could understand her well enough. 

When the group finally returned to the Circle, the two apostates decided to explore the tower as Dagna spoke to First Enchanter Irving. Morrigan and Byleth wandered its halls without the worry of an abomination attack—thinking about the hypotheticals of being kept within its walls. Morrigan shook her head at the “foolish notion” that she’d be kept inside of anything for more than a month. Byleth couldn’t help but agree. They soon found themselves in the senior enchanter quarters, and Byleth ventured off into the First Enchanter’s office.

In another life, her father could have very well been the one that occupied this space instead, she thought. A chest with a broken lock caught her eye, and curiosity got the better of her to the prizes within it. 

“Hey Morrigan, look at this,” Byleth said, handing her a grimoire that was just her aesthetic, "This looks like something your mother would own.”

“Because it is something she owned,” Morrigan said, slightly surprised. Her surprise faded away to happiness, almost giddiness. “This contains powerful spells that she has yet to teach me.”

Morrigan’s eyes sparkled, eager to learn the secrets Flemeth had kept from her. Byleth leaned on her shoulder, admiring the cover of the dark tome, “I’m sure the First Enchanter won’t mind if one single powerful book is missing from his collection, will he? It was probably lost during that fiasco we rescued him from, after all.”

The taller witch chuckled, “I am sure he would not.” On their way out, Byleth saw a fallen painting. Remembering that Sten had liked a similar painting at Redcliffe castle, she decided to take it with her. A sorry-I-kicked-your-butt-present for her favorite qunari. 

(Much later on in their adventure, when the Qunari greatsword proved to be too heavy for her, Byleth decided to give it to Sten instead. He decided to call her kadan after that. It took quite a few pestering sessions for him to tell her why. She knew he was a big softie.)

* * *

“Who is this?” Byleth questioned as they reunited with the rest of their party. There was a new member that she did not recognize. Oh, so she couldn’t join them down in the Dark Roads but they get to pick up a new party member? 

“His name is Oghren,” Alim explained. “He is willing to leave his home to join us on our journey.”

“He smells horrendous,” Byleth said. 

“Nice to meet you too, sweet cheeks,” Oghren winked at her and burped. The smell of stale ale permeated the air. Was he drunk?

“Don’t,” Jeralt warned the dwarf. 

“Oh? Is this your daughter?” The dwarf asked. “She looks nothing like you.”

“And too young for you,” Jeralt went to usher Byleth out of Oghren’s line of sight.

* * *

“I’m going to blow the horn,” Byleth said. 

“Please don’t,” Leliena begged, exasperated. 

“I want to fight a high dragon, I missed out on the last time we had to fight one,” Byleth reasoned. She was with Morrigan at the time, ready to flee with her if things had gone differently. 

“Oh, because fighting Morrigan’s mother was so much fun,” Alistair whined. 

“It was? Why didn’t you say so,” Blyeth said as she blew on the horn.

“She understands sarcasm, does she not?” Alistair turned to Jeralt.

He looked Alistair dead in the eye, completely serious, “She’s fluent in it, son.”

Alistair was right, watching your party members get flung thirty feet into the air _ was _ fun.

* * *

“You are glowing,” Byleth told Alim. 

“I do not know how to turn it off,” Alim confessed. “It goes away when the spell wears off.”

Byleth stuck her hand toward Alim, feeling a soft barrier. If she tried hard enough, she would surely pass through him. 

“Please don’t try to pass through me. I don’t want the spell to wear off while you’re stuck inside of me.”

“I see. You are only comfortable with Zev inside of you, yes?”

This created a range of emotions throughout the group, ranging from shock to amusement. Jeralt choked on his flask and turned to Zevran abruptly, “Zevran!”

The elven assassin’s ears drooped in horror at the mention of his name. He had a huge blush on his face, from embarrassment or fear, it was a mystery, “I didn’t do anything—I mean teach— I mean say anything to her, by the Maker I swear!”

Oghren laughed uproariously, smacking Zevran on the back, knocking the elf forward and off balance. This gave the elf a head start as Jeralt started to chase after him. Jeralt looked like he was going to throttle the Antivan as the blond elf decided to scurry up a tree to escape the battlemage’s wrath. 

“Did I say something wrong?” Byleth asked with fake innocence. 

Morrigan looked at her with a knowing expression, “I can’t say that you have.”

“It’s why I sleep in your tent now,” Byleth said, expression suddenly downcast. “They’re really loud at night.” Oghren laughed louder at this, and Jeralt started to fire arcane bolts up in the trees at Zevran.

* * *

After Wynne collapsed after an encounter with an enemy, Byleth was worried for her health. It was no secret that she and Wynne butted heads towards their ideologies, but that did not mean that Byleth did not care for her. Byleth bought a basket and a few trinkets from Bodahn, who for some Maker’s forsaken reason have decided to follow them throughout their journey. (Why yes, she had tea with Sandal. And yes, they talked about enchantments.)

In the basket, Byleth carefully laid out a bottle of wine. She recalled Wynne winning a drinking competition once. Alistair, Zevran, Leliana and Alim dropped out once their limit had been reached, but her father, Sten and Oghren were as stubborn as ever. She remembered coming downstairs from the inn to check up on them only to see Jeralt passed out at the bar alongside Sten, and Oghren was seen snoring underneath a table. Wynne in turn sat atop the bar in front of her defeated foes, upturning an empty mug over her head. The survivors of the competition clapped at her achievement, half of them struggling to stay awake. Funnily enough, while everyone woke with a hangover, Wynne was chipper than ever the next morning. 

Several romantic novels had found themselves in the basket as well. Although it was not her cup of tea, Byleth recalled Wynne would pay more interest to Leliana’s songs and stories that involved romance, forbidden ones about couples from different classes seems to be what catches her interest the most.

There were also other goodies such as flowers and some cookies. Maker, she hoped the cookies were edible.

“Wynne?” Byleth called out to her in front of the senior enchanter’s tent. 

The elder woman came out from her tent. Her expression at meeting Byleth was tentative at best. 

“I heard that you collapsed in battle today. I know you probably don’t want to be treated like a frail damsel, but I thought it’d be nice for you to indulge yourself in rest for the moment.” She stuck out the basket offering.

“You should take it easy for a few days. I’m a Spirit Healer too, so you can rely on me for help,” Byleth said. “If you ever want to have a tea party with me, there will always be an invitation available with your name on it. We can chat and you can tell me about anything that troubles you—magic related or not.”

“Why, thank you, Byleth,” Wynne said, accepting the present. “Tea would sound lovely. How about the next time we set up camp, yes?”

Byleth had to hold back on sarcastic remarks as she nodded and walked away. When her back was turned, she missed the smile on Wynne’s face.

* * *

“So, you and Leliana, huh?” Byleth questioned Alistair. 

“What is it now, Byleth?” Alistair said.

“Can’t a girl congratulate her comrades in getting together? It makes sense after all, with the fear of death looming over you at all hours of the day, your hormones are yelling at you to leave offspring behind, even though you can only shoot blanks.”

“You are spending too much time with Zevran and Oghren,” Alistair said, face in his hands. “I don’t see you harassing Leliana over this.”

“Because you’re easy to rile up. And Leliana can retort back just as sharp.”

“Oh, so you’re saying I’m easy, huh?”

“Don’t let Leliana hear you say that. It would destroy her pride.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Congratulations, by the way.”

Alistair hesitated, unsure if this was another trap, “...Thank you.”

“If you ever have a child, name it after me.”

“Maker’s breath...”

* * *

“I had at first found you quite creepy, Byleth. Disturbing, even,” Morrigan said with a small smile across her face. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder on a bed in Denerim castle. Least to say, it was the biggest and softest bed both apostates had ever had the pleasure of using. 

“My feelings are now wounded,” Byleth replied. “I demand recompense.” Byleth held her hand towards the wild witch, who in turn clasped it between hers. Byleth had not expected this. “Payment accepted.”

“But then I realized you were just curious in me as I was in you,” she continues, eyeing the space between their legs. “And then the day I returned as a crow, you looked at me with such amazement, for once in my life I found myself proud of who I was.”

“It was the most graceful thing I had ever seen,” Byleth breathed. “You were beautiful.”

Morrigan blushed at the compliment. “During the days you had lived with us, you made my life all that much brighter. It was...disheartening when you had to leave. I wanted to go with you, but I couldn’t...”

“Not with Flemeth around,” Byleth finished her thought. Morrigan nodded in agreement. 

“Of all the things I could have imagined would’ve result when you showed up at my abode all those years ago, the very last would have been that I have found in you a friend—perhaps even a sister,” Morrigan said, her breath almost shaky. She holds Byleth’s hand closer to her face now, whispering into them like a prayer. “I want you to know that while I may not always prove myself worthy...of your friendship. I will always value it.”

Morrigan’s confessions catches Byleth by surprise, and there is a lump in her throat. While most of the time, being told you were like a sibling to someone you are infatuated with would demoralise anyone beyond compare, Byleth could not find herself to surface such feelings. Instead she morphed those feelings of love into something stronger than it was before, a resilient emotion beyond compare to what it initially was. Morrigan was now her sister, and without a reason of a doubt, Byleth will love her forevermore. 

“Now, I would like your aid in convincing Alim to have a baby with me.”

“Ah,” Byleth said, confused as ever.

* * *

“I take it that Alim accepted the ritual?” Byleth asked, noticing the flushed look on the elf’s face as he left the bedroom. He had bumped into Byleth on his way out, hair disheveled and robes wrinkled. He stammered a hello as he walked past her, avoiding eye contact all the while. She had given them ample time to finish the ritual—but perhaps she should have given them a bit longer, if only to gather themselves in a more presentable manner. 

“Indeed he did,” Morrigan mused. She was fixing her hair as Byleth entered. “Grey Wardens have quite the stamina. I can see why Zevran likes him.”

“I’m going to ignore that last part. My teenage ears are far too innocent for this,” she plopped herself on the bed. Huh, was this a good idea? Two very attractive people just had _ sex _ on it, after all. “So like, are we going to express the irony of using dark magic to save a country that despises it?”

“What more is there to express?” Morrigan chuckled. “T’is not so unusual, considering the circumstances.”

“I’m just glad Alim agreed. I can see you overreacting if he had shunned you,” Byleth said. “Like turning into a wolf and running away.”

Morrigan gave her a confused look, “Whatever do you mean?”

“I have seen the way you look at him, Morrigan. You love him.”

The Witch of the Wilds looked solemnly at Byleth. “Am I that obvious?”

“To me you are. If Alim knew, I think it would have caused him more hesitation in agreeing to this ritual. He seems like the kind of gentleman who would fear of leading you on and breaking your heart. Ritual or not, he values the intimacy between bonds. Look at how he’s changed Zevran.”

“They’re lovesick fools,” Morrigan commented—a pang of jealousy in her words. 

“But they’re our fools,” Byleth replied. She held Morrigan’s hand in hers. “You will no doubt one day find a love like theirs.”

“Don’t get me hopeful on such trivialities. A single mother such as myself will not catch as many suitors as you might think.”

“That is your own opinion. One that is wrong, by the way.”

Morrigan scoffed at that. The witch slipped off of the bed to put on her clothes. Which was not a lot but hey, she would be insane if she tried to fight the Archedemon in her smallclothes. 

“Ah. By the way,” Byleth called out to her friend. Morrigan gave her a side glance of acknowledgement. “Thanks for not trying to bed my dad.”

There was a smirk on the damn witch’s lips, “About that...”

Byleth felt her hair bristle, “Don’t you dare pull this on me. I will not believe that you would have done the ritual with my dad if Alim had refused. 

“Believe what you must, dear friend,” Morrigan hummed, hand on her stomach. “Whatever makes you sleep well at night.”

“Unbelievable,” Byleth muttered. Just the thought of her best friend and her dad...yeah, abort _ abort abort_. We are _ done _ thinking about it. She threw a pillow at Morrigan’s direction, who laughed at her misfortune. 

* * *

The celebration was joyous, yet hollow. 

Why didn’t Morrigan take Byleth with her?

“Morrigan is gone, Byleth,” Jeralt told her. Byleth knew this, but she did not want to believe it. “She’s gone and we have to leave.”

She knew this, too. Without the threat of the Blight looming over their heads, templars will return to actively seek out apostates. And with the fame of being heroes, there was no telling how much time they have left until they were captured. Not to mention how her dad being a Grey Warden complicated matters. 

He would be expected to eventually join their ranks and be _separated _ from Byleth. If he ran away, another Grey Warden will eventually recognize him, if not by his face but by the blood running through his veins. And then where would she be? 

She could hide out in a village by herself for the rest of her days. Eventually she’d be discovered and hero or not, thrown in a Circle. She’d be lucky if they didn’t force her through the Rite of Tranquility on the spot. Alim had asked Alistair the boon of independence for the Circles, but everyone knew that that was a lost cause. 

King of Ferelden or no, he did not have enough power to keep that promise. It was a useless pipe dream, but someone’s got to take the first step. 

Why didn’t Morrigan take Byleth with her?

Alim looked at their direction and nodded in understanding. He allowed for them to sneak through the back of the castle, slipping under the radar of adoring fans that waited outside for them. Once in the forest, away from all prying eyes but the animals, Jeralt taught her how to jump between worlds. 

He had taken off his shirt, revealing the tattoo to her once more. It was lyrium based, he told her—allowing him to channel more magic for stronger spells that would otherwise tear his body apart. He informed her to cut between his shoulder blades, to allow blood to cover the tattoo, and the lyrium infused blood would be the catalyst of the spell. 

Instead, she ran her dagger through her hand, and rested the bloody prints on her father’s back. Byleth felt her father’s muscles tensed as he realized what she just did, but he did nothing to stop her. Instead, he guided her through the ritual.

“Think of the marking as a way to seek knowledge. You need to have a strong connection of wanting to leave. What motivates you to jump? What motivates you to run?”

She could barely hear him as the ringing of her ears began to slowly deafen her. She knew the spell had begun, as she could feel more of her blood being drawn directly from the cut. It was uncomfortable at first, but nothing she could not withstand. 

A glyph of the same symbol as Jeralt’s tattoo appeared below them, and her skin began to tingle. The gash on her hand opened for more blood to come out, and a sudden sting began to emanate from the wound, making her gasp in pain. Her father turned around to remove her hand from his back and took her into a hug as white light enveloped the both of them.

* * *

_ “Jowan?” a voice called out to her. Despite this not being her name, she found herself looking up at the source of the voice. It was Alim, looking misty eyed. Why was he sad? “Do you remember who I am?” _

_ “You’re Alim. We were friends during our time together in the Circle Tower,” she found herself replying. _

_ “Yes! Yes, that is right.” Alim looked happier now, but tears were clinging to his eyes like glass. “I want to apologize, you’re in this situation because of me.” _

_ “If I recall, I was the one to enlist your help in escaping in the first place. Not only were we caught, I used blood magic to escape on my own. From a logical point of view, I am the one to be blamed for the events that have occurred.” _

_Alim’s eyes darted from contact, looking downcast and absolutely devastated. “You did not have to become Tranquil. If I had vouched for you more, if I had snuck you out-” there was something that got caught in his throat as he looked back at Byleth—Jowan? His voice was shakier now, “You know, this would be a lot easier if you were angry—or even sad. But instead you’re just staring at me."_

_“It would be rude to not maintain eye contact while conversing with another person.”_

_ Alim reached out for Jowan’s hand. Jowan did not react and let it happen. The Hero of Ferelden knelt beside his former friend, with tears begging to overflow. _

_ “It is of no use to confess to it now, Jowan—but I, I was in love with you. I know you might have been disgusted at the prospect, maybe...” He gulped, tears streaming down his face, “Maybe you wouldn’t have...but I just wished you had told me sooner, about the blood magic.” _

_ Sobs interrupted his speech now, “I think I loved you so much, I would have gone with you either way, if I was the one you were in love with, if I was the one you wanted to run away with. But you were in love with Lily, and I was ready to accept that and still wanted to help, I was thinking that helping you leave was a way of letting you go.” _

_ He faltered, letting a wave of sadness take over him as he sobbed into Jowan’s hand. “Even now, I wish to kiss you—but you can’t refuse anymore and it disgusts me that I still want to kiss you, to embrace you. As if this was a fairytale and kissing you will release you from this horrible spell.” _

_ “You may kiss me if you wish,” Jowan said. _

_ “No!” Alim jerked backwards, “No, you can’t just give me permission like that. You don’t understand the intent behind these actions anymore. You can’t refuse, you can’t voice your desires. If I ordered you to kiss me, you would, not because you want to, of your own volition, but because I made you.” _

_“Do you want me to kiss you?”_ _   
_

_“More than anything.” Jowan began to lean down in order to initiate the order. He was stopped by Alim’s firm hand on his shoulder. “But not like this. Never like this,” Alim let go of Jowan’s hand, standing up on wobbling knees. “I wanted to say goodbye. I’m going with Zev to Sten’s homeland.”_

_ Byleth had a feeling that this farewell was about more than just the trip. _

_ “Okay. Safe travels,” Jowan said. The words were so cold from the lack of emotion it sent chills up Byleth’s spine. Alim left the library with tears still in his eyes. Jowan returned to the tome he was reading, and he resumed the notes he was taking. The heavy atmosphere of the library hung onto the air once more, with only the scratching of Jowan’s quill to break the silence. _

* * *

Byleth awoke to a clear sky inside of a forest much like the one she had just been in. Had the spell worked? It was hard to tell. She does not quite remember what she just dreamed about, but it felt surreal. It felt like she invaded someone’s privacy. It felt like it was something she would have cried over, but she did not know how to cry. The cut on her hand was healed, so her father must have been the one to take care of it. 

She remembered distinctively being told that since they were so much farther from the Fade, it was harder to perform the level of magic they were accustomed to for the same potency. She tried summoning a wisp, only managing to call forth the tiniest spirit she had ever seen. It was quite cute, actually—albeit useless. 

“Hey kid,” Jeralt’s voice alerted her of his presence. He helped her up from the sparse blanket she was resting on. “Welcome to Fódlan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know Jowan was planned to be a party member? Imagine if that did make it into the game! I have to say, a male Surana has the least amount of backstory. If you were a female Surana, Cullen had a crush on you - something that can come up in later games as well! If you were a human mage, you were related to the Hawkes. m!Surana gets nothing, so I gave him a big fat crush on Jowan, which ends horribly for him.
> 
> In my first personal play through, Morrigan invited me to her tent and I couldn't refuse because I was scared I'd get her disapproval, since I already got her to 100 approval. To avoid a "choose-me-or-him" convo with her I avoided conversation until the talk about the ritual. Does that make me a bad friend? I wanted to help raise the baby but the game doesn't let you do that unless you romanced her, which miffs me to this day.


	4. I’m not poaching your students if they come to me first

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth gets a new job despite not even applying for one.

Years have passed since she settled a life of mercenary work in Fódlan. On occasion, her mind wandered to what her old companions were like. She knew them for a year in quite a close knit party after all. What was the name of Morrigan’s child? Was she well? Was the child well? Did Alistair and Leliana work out their relationship with him being king? Are Zevran and Alim still the most adorable (and insufferable) couple in all of Ferelden? Did Oghren get his act together and finally became a family man? 

Or did none of that matter, because the Qunari invaded the country and Sten was forced to kill them all? Byleth shook her head at that suggestion. Her connection to the Fade grow weaker the longer she stayed in in Fódlan, and she barely had dreams about it anymore. 

Instead, flashes of the battlefield dream she had as a child became more vivid as days passed. In fact, she was having the dream right now. A woman with mint green hair kicked her enemy down and stabbed him to death, before rubbing his bloody weapon against her face. That was not sanitary, lady. Then the dream suddenly cut to the same girl on the stone throne as before. She had even greener hair and a more intimidating expression than the last woman had. 

The mystery girl was a sassy child, calling Byleth rude before going to sleep in the middle of their conversation. _ Well, you’re the rude one here _, Byleth wanted to tell her, but she was woken up by Jeralt. It was early, and Byleth wanted to drift back to sleep. Jeralt told her it was important. Right, their mission. 

The sleepiness from her eyes were barely rubbed away when a group of uniformed teens came running for help. In the middle of the night, their bright, colorful garbs were eye catching. It was no wonder why the bandits could track them. 

Persistent as the children's persuaders may be, they dropped like a bag of rocks into the ocean. The last one proved to be of sturdier material as he got the jump on the red one, and Byleth had no choice but to block the attack—with her own body. Hey, it was on the spur of the moment, and she really did not have time to think. (An arcane bolt could have done the trick much faster, but alas—she did not feel like exposing her magics.) Besides, the red girl could have...dodged. This earned her a tongue lashing from the strange girl in her head. And thus she was gifted the power of the Divine Pulse. Wow. 

The three children were apparently students of the Garreg Mach Monastery—Byleth never got a chance to really learn about the main religion of this world. All she knew was that there was a Goddess instead of the Maker. There were saints too, if she recalled correctly, and there was no parallel person of this religion to Andraste. When was a religious bard present when you need her? She absorbed information through song much easier than through reading. 

A man in heavy armor with the most lopsided pauldron design Byleth had ever seen came barreling towards them—as if he was late to a very important meeting—interrupted their introductions. The man seemed to recognize her father, even inquiring if she was his indeed his daughter. Of course she was his daughter, who else would she be? 

Did she mention that the pauldron was massive? Seriously, he could poke someone’s eye out with that thing. After being fought over like a piece of meat (they were trying to recruit her into their armies? Was this legal?), the three teenagers finally decided to introduce themselves. 

There was princess Edelgard von Hresvelg of the Adrestian Empire, prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and (soon to be duke) Claude von Riegan of the Leicester Alliance. All nobles. Great. She must have been seriously giving them a stare down as Dimitri and Edelgard have started to avoid her eyes, while Claude laughed, “Well friend, I can see that you are wary of nobles like us, but rest assured, I am nothing like these two. I for one, know how to have _ fun _.”

“Claude, that is very unbecoming of you to say such things,” Dimitri said, aghast.

“See? Don’t even know how to take a joke,” Claude sighed, shaking his head. “And you wonder why people like our friend here dislike nobles so much.” 

Edelgard meanwhile fumed silently at Claude’s words.

“You’ve got something to say, princess?” Byleth questioned the girl.

“Nothing at all,” Edelgard said through a strained smile, feigning indifference.

“Byleth!” Jeralt called from afar, earning his daughter’s attention. “Gather your things, we’re going to the Monastery.”

“Is this voluntary?” Byleth asked her dad, loud enough for all to hear. He was quite a ways from her, after all. 

Jeralt looked at her for a moment, as if he was choosing his next words carefully, “Let’s pretend it is, yeah?”

“Sir Jeralt!” the spiky pauldron man practically screamed. He then laughed nervously (and loudly) before shouting to Byleth, “Your dad is such a kidder, of course this is voluntary. Why would it not be?”

“Maybe because we’ve been avoiding the Church all my life,” Byleth muttered under her breath, earning a gaze from Edelgard. Byleth went to gather her things, leaving Dimitri and Claude to bicker amongst themselves. Well, Dimitri was berating Claude, who was pretending to listen. 

Once everyone (which was basically only Jeralt and Byleth from their mercenary group) was ready, they were off, with the Knights of Seiros leading them to their destination. It was a short trip, and Byleth was quiet as the trio talked to her about the Monastery. Claude called it “Fódlan in a nutshell,” and Byleth was not sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing. Edelgard pondered aloud if Byleth were to join them as a student at the Officer’s Academy, and from Byleth’s minimal interactions with institutionalized education, she hoped that wouldn't be the case.

When they arrived, a feeling of uncertainty and dread rushed through her body, putting Byleth on high alert on what was to come. The woman, who was the Archbishop (who Jeralt explained briefly was like the Divine) was oddly familiar to the woman in her dreams—except the one in her dreams was spiteful and full of rage, whereas the one before her seemed serene. The Archbishop sent an eerie wave of both déjà vu and nostalgia up Byleth’s spine as she gave her a smile. Her warm smile, however, did nothing to ease Byleth’s trepidation that something was _ wrong _. 

After introducing herself, Byleth’s mind practically wandered off, scanning the area as if it would jog some sort of memory that would ease this uncertainty in the pit of her stomach. She was so lost in thought that she had almost missed it when her father said she was going to be working at the Monastery. 

“What? As a servant?” Byleth asked, blinking once at her father. “This is it, isn’t it? The reason why you’ve sheltered me all this time, to save me from a life of religious servitude. You did your best, papa, I won’t fault you for trying.”

Jeralt gave her an aggressive pat on the head, “Kid, it’s a teaching job.”

“I have zero training in educating others,” Byleth looked up at Jeralt blankly. 

“You’ve led plenty of battles. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“Leading and teaching are two different things. I don’t even have a teaching degree-”

“No such things here.”

“....What the f-”

“Lady Rhea,” another green haired entity had entered the foray. This one was less accommodating of Byleth’s presence, questioning the Archbishop’s decision to hire her._ Yes, do it you green man, talk some sense to this weird lady_. But alas, the intimidating Chantry, er, _ Church of Seiros _ lady did not budge from her hiring decision. Byleth briefly wondered if the education system here was more slanted than the ones back at Thedas. Hiring someone with no formal education, higher or otherwise, to teach others made Byleth answer her own question with a profound _yes_.

Two more adults joined in on the conversation, introducing themselves as her coworkers. The male professor seemed interested in having her as part of the faculty, no doubt curious of what qualified her as a professor (join the club). The female professor on the other hand gave Jeralt a lingering—almost lecherous—lookover from top to bottom, and Byleth felt the urge to cover his body with her own. _ Ask him out to dinner first _, Byleth thought bitterly. Jeralt must have felt uncomfortable as well, as he excused them both from the room to reconvene in his office. Oh, he had an office now, did he? Where was hers? This is blasphemy. 

Once inside the office, Byleth could not help but compare it to a similar office back in Thedas. It was smaller than First Enchanter Irving’s office for one, but the decor gave it more of a warm, welcoming feeling, much different from the cold slabs and sparse brick-a-brack of Irving’s accommodations. 

Nestled near the window of the office laid a dark wood desk, perfect for sitting on the surface of. She plopped herself on top of the desk as her father sat in its corresponding chair, almost sinking into the leather. He shifted around to get comfortable, but it was obvious that he very much wasn’t. 

“Papa, how do I teach children?” Byleth voiced her concerns. Rhea had asked her to introduce herself to the student body, and for some reason the female professor—Manuela was her name—asked Byleth to keep her faculty status a secret for the moment. Her soul was practically leaving her body at the thought of her current employment. This was such an uncomfortable situation. She never _ had _to stay in one place for an extended period of time before. The expectation of staying put gave her the same claustrophobic feeling she had back in Orzammar. 

Jeralt had a neutral expression on his face, so Byleth was unsure of what he was thinking, “You’ll figure it out.”

“Can we leave?”

“Rhea isn’t going to let you go.”

“Let’s jump,” Byleth whined. 

“No.”

Byleth looked at Jeralt with the minute expression of confusion, “What. Why not?”

“Your life isn’t in immediate danger as of the moment. Once that changes though, _ if _ it changes, we’ll jump,” her father assured her, petting at her head. 

Ah, he must be talking about the toll it took on their bodies. She remembered that Jeralt passed out for two days once before, and who knew how long it took for him to find Flemeth’s hut back then. When Byleth supplied the blood for the spell instead just after the Blight, she was out for five days, Jeralt had told her. 

“You jumped back when I was a kid.”

“I had to make connections. Had to make sure we at least had some sort of foundation if we were to make a living here.”

“Ah,” Something in Byleth’s brain clicked. “That’s how you found a mercenary group so fast. It wasn’t new company at all.”

“Look at my professor of a daughter, so smart and ready to take on the world of educating the masses,” he mused, patting her head more aggressively now, purposefully ruffling her already shaggy hair into more of a mess. 

“_Papa please, _” Byleth protested, swatting her father’s hand away. “I’m a professor now. No more headpats.”

Jeralt feigned hurt, putting his petting hand on his chest. “Now you’re just breaking your old man’s heart.”

“You are going to have to earn your headpats.”

“Awfully old to be entering your rebellious phase now, aren’t you?”

“I’m always a rebel,” Byleth flipped her hair, nonchalant.

Jeralt held is hands up in mock surrender, “Whatever you say, _ professor _Byleth.”

_ Aaaaah, that was so weird. _She jumped off the desk and headed for the exit, “I’m going to go meet the students now.”

“Don’t get lost,” Jeralt called after her as she left. She gave him a non committal wave before she was out of view of the doorway. 

Okay, she was bad at directions but not _ that _bad that she would get lost in an enclosed campus. Her father was underestimating her, that rude jerk.

She got lost. 

Byleth huffed as she leaned against a support beam in front of the dormitories, pretending that she had meant to be there. Now where were the damn classrooms? Before long, a purple haired girl emerged from her room, looking like a skittish bird that was ready to take flight at any moment. Thinking that perhaps the girl was going to her classroom, Byleth decided to follow her from afar. She did not bother to mask her presence, however, so when the student saw that Byleth was lingering behind her, she took off like an arcane bolt. 

Not keen on losing her only lead, Byleth quickened her pace, careful not to overtake the girl. This only caused said girl to panic, running faster than she did before, “Please don’t kill meeeeee-” the girl squealed.

Okay, this miscommunication will not do. Byleth sprinted forward far enough to grasp the student by her shoulder with an outreached hand, earning another shriek in the process.

“I’m not trying to kill you,” Byleth said as she held the girl in place.

“T-then you’re going to kidnap me, right? Don’t deny it! Oh, Bernie, what did you get yourself into?”

“Well..._ Bernie_. I needed directions to the classrooms. Figuring you knew the way and not wanting to disturb you, I followed from afar. But then you jumped to conclusions and ran off, so I had no choice but to run as well, not wanting to lose sight of you. And well-” Byleth sighed, letting go of the girl’s shoulder, “Then you started screaming.”

This earned her a squinting glare from Bernie. “What?” Byleth asked.

“I’m trying to figure out if you’re telling the truth or not,” Bernie said, wringing her fingers nervously. “It is either a very bad lie, one to lower my guard to attack me from behind, or you are telling the truth and have horrible communication skills.”

_ Now that’s just the pot calling the kettle black_, Byleth thought. She pinched the bridge of her nose, “Look, Bernie. I just need to know where the classrooms are. If you don’t want to lead me, then you can just give me directions.”

“And you promise you won’t attack me?” Bernie asked with earnest.

“If it bothers you so much, I’ll be in front and you can just tell me where to go, alright?” Byleth offered. Bernie stared at her some more, “What is it now?”

“I’m trying to see if this is a trick or not.”

Byleth could feel her head grow heavier from stress at that remark. A whole year of this? “Well, if it was, I wouldn’t be telling you, now would I?” Wrong choice of words.

“I knew it! You’ll never catch me alive!” Bernie screamed as she made a beeline in the opposite direction from where she was headed, leaving Byleth in the dust with no indication of where to go. 

“Having trouble with Bernadetta, professor?” a familiar feminine voice caught her attention. It was Edelgard, accompanied by a taller male with sunken eyes and wavy black hair. He was quite tall when juxtaposed next to the princess. He practically towered over her, even as he remained a respectable distance behind her—indicating some form of subordinate relationship he had with her. 

“Ah, Edelgard. Yes, I was trying to find my way to the classrooms but some...misunderstandings complicated the matter,” Byleth sighed at the memory of what had just transpired, pushing some hair behind her ear in the process. She really wanted to remove the bangs covering the male’s eye, but she resisted the urge to do so. Maybe hinting the motion on her own hair would tempt suggestion for the male to do so as well. 

No such luck. Instead, it only earned her a glare from him as she continued to stare intently at his bangs. The three stood in silence, each one waiting for the other to speak up first. 

“I must introduce you to Hubert, heir of Marquis Vestra. He has served me since I was a child,” Edelgard told Byleth, holding a hand in front of Hubert. That name does little to incite interest in Byleth, for she had no idea who that was. 

“I must thank you for protecting Lady Edelgard’s life the other day,” Hubert acknowledged with a small nod of his head. And? And nothing. His eyes spoke otherwise, practically sending daggers in her direction. _ A year of this? _

“Ah, so...Edelgard. Would you mind in escorting me to the classrooms? I still have no clue where they are.”

“Of course, professor,” Edelgard said almost too quickly, as if trying to prevent Hubert from speaking first. As they walked, Byleth decided to ask the princess some questions she had on her mind. 

“How did you know I will be your new professor?” Byleth asked. “Professor Manuela had asked of us to be quiet on the matter—for some odd reason.”

“Perhaps she wished for you to acquaint yourself with the students to know their true selves? I assume they will be more inclined to not put up a false face when they assume you are a fellow student as well,” Edelgard theorized. Was that the reason? Byleth somehow doubted that was what Manuela had in mind, but she didn’t know enough about how the inner mind of her fellow professor worked to say otherwise. “Also, I am the house leader of the Black Eagles. Dimitri is house leader of the Blue Lions and Claude is the house leader for the Golden Deer. All three of us alone have been notified of your new position in our school.”

“I am surprised you didn't know about this,” Hubert remarked. Was he taking a jab at her?

“I was not really brought into this position by the normal means, Hubert. I skipped a lot of steps somehow, and was not really supplied with any training or special orientation on any of this.”

“Is that so?” Hubert hummed. “I pity the Golden Deer for having such an ill prepared head professor, then.”

“Hubert,” Edelgard warned sternly.

Byleth blinked at that, confused as ever, “Excuse me, head what now?”

“Each house has a primary professor in charge of it. Professor Manuela is the head of the Black Eagle house while professor Hanneman is the head of the Blue Lions, which leaves you to be the head professor for the Golden Deer,” Hubert explained. The explanation was welcomed, but it could do with less of a haughty tone. “The head professor is the primary teaching instructor for each class, aside from classes based around a professor’s particular specialization—in which all students from any house are welcome to attend.”

“Ah.” Byleth said. “For some reason, I was assuming I’d get to choose the house I’d be in charge of.”

“Why would that be?” Hubert asked, with a condescending tone, earning a jab in the ribs from Edelgard.

“I don’t know, really,” Byleth said, tilting her head. “If Rhea was so keen on giving me a teaching position just like that, I would assume she’d let me choose the class I got to teach as well.”

“You know, that is some sound logic, professor” Edelgard contemplated. “It does not make very much sense from a logical perspective, as it’d be simply ludicrous for a house to change professors every year, but for some reason, your reasoning seems very plausible.”

“Wait,” Byleth halted. “If I am a new employee and in charge of a house, does that mean that this entire academy only has _ three _ professors?”

The two students gave each other a look before returning their attention to Byleth. Edelgard rested her chin between her forefinger and thumb, looking up at the sky in thought, “Well, aside from the combat instructor Jeritza—who really only is in charge over the training grounds and tournaments, I have to say...yes. There are only three professors in the school.”

_ This is how I’m going to die_, Byleth thought. _ Waist keep in parchment and papercuts. _

* * *

It had been around two months since Byleth had started her teaching career, and somehow, she had _ not _ died yet from stress. Aside from her Golden Deers, to which she had affectionately called them her fawns—much to Lysithea’s chagrin—she had started to learn more about the students of the other houses too, especially the house leaders and their retainers. 

Claude reminded her of Zevran. They were both sneaky, cunning, attractive, and bad at picking locks. They were also good with poisons—except Zev had a penchant for dousing his blades with fatal ones while Claude’s work mildly upset the stomach. Hilda, while not a retainer in the same sense as the others, had an air of loyalty to Claude around her that Byleth could not ignore. The girl’s strength and reminded Byleth of Oghren, a tidbit that most definitely would upset the girl if she understood the reference. They had layers as well, a reason for their quirkiness—but Hilda was no doubt the better smelling one of the two. 

Dimitri’s fondness of cheese reminded her of Alistair, not to mention they were both princes of their respective countries with bad taste in puns. They both have the capacity to love and the capacity to hold a dangerous grudge, and Byleth felt that one push would no doubt spiral Dimitri into the latter. Dedue was an obvious expy to Sten. The both of them were loyal, quiet, mysterious, stoic, strong warriors—loves flowers. The two were outsiders and as a result are often shunned by those around them for unjust reasons. Not to mention that they were both absolute units that towered over anybody they stood next to. 

Edelgard had a serious and sweet side. She was a natural born leader, like Alim. Alim was far more skittish than Edelgard, however, who has the self confidence of a goddess. Just a normal nondescript goddess, not _ the _Goddess. Byleth felt that the Emperor to be had a secret, and she was unsure if she would like to find out. Hubert was dark and brooding, like Morrigan but not as hot. Byleth regretted making the comparison right away, feeling that it was sacrilegious to associate Morrigan with such a person. She wondered if it was possible to teach him shapeshifting magic and what his rat form would look like. It’d be the spitting image of him, she assumed. 

One day, as Byleth was preparing to train, Sylvain called her from the seating area that was in front of the fireplace. “Ah, professor!” he waved at her direction. Now that she was distracted, she was no longer in the mood to train and decided to humor the redhead. Felix, who was about to ask to spar with her for the third time that day, returned to his solo routine.

Byleth tentatively approached the blue lion, who was actually accompanied by Dimitri, Dedue and Ingrid as well. They were probably taking a break and of course Felix doesn’t know the meaning of such a word. “What is it, Jose?” She didn’t know why she liked calling him that. It was a fun name to say.

“Ah, actually,” Sylvain said, mouth twitching at the name, “I was wondering if we can talk somewhere private?”

“No way, Jose,” Byleth muttered. Ah, that was why she called him by that name. It rhymed and she liked that.

“Professor,” Sylvain said with knitted eyebrows.

“Yes, Jose?”

“Do you call me by my middle name, for the sake of saying that on repeat?” She had done it before, and she will do it again. No one can stop her—it’s not like she’s name calling him, it _ is his actual name, _after all. 

Byleth looked at the redhead with a neutral expression, “I have no idea what you are talking about, Jose.”

“It is rather catchy,” Dimitri nodded. 

“Girls that he chase would no doubtedly benefit if they learn this turn of phrase,” Ingrid added. “Since you hate it so much.”

Dedue refrained from commenting, but was that a small smile Byleth saw? Everyone sure loved to poke fun of the womanizer, huh?

“What? Hate it? No, I don’t hate it,” Sylvain said with strained laughter. “Anyways, please, professor? It’s related to class, I swear.”

“Would it not be beneficial if you talked to professor Hanneman about it, then?”

“I did, but now I need your permission, too.”

Permission to do what, exactly? Now Byleth’s interest was piqued, and she agreed to meet Sylvain outside of the training hall—away from Dimitri and Ingrid’s ears. 

“I was wondering if I can transfer to your class, professor,” Slyvain admitted.

“Ah,” Byleth’s eyebrows were raised ever so slightly. That was not what she had in mind, “Are you not childhood friends with Dimitri and the others? It’s basically leaving your whole kingdom behind to join the enemy.”

“Don’t talk about this like we’re at war,” Sylavain said, smiling grimly. He rested his hands behind his neck in that signature pose of his, “I’m sure they won’t mind if I broaden my horizons by joining another house. It’s not like I’m betraying them or anything.” 

“As long as you’re sure,” Byleth said. “I don’t want you changing your mind in two weeks time and begging to transfer back, you hear me?”

Sylvain smiled broadly at that, “I wouldn’t dream of it, professor.”

In two weeks time, Felix also asked to be transfered. “The Golden Deer are being assigned more exciting missions than the Blue Lions,” was his reasoning. “I would no doubt get more training and garner more experience if I were to join your house. You wield the sword well, and it would benefit me to be in your care. Another tactical advantage for me to join, yes?”

Byleth did not need a reason for a student to transfer to her class, as long as they were serious, but it seemed like Felix was over explaining the situation. She let him join anyway. She will have to restrategize her tactics again, Byleth internally groaned at the work ahead of her. That night, she found herself in the library long after it was socially acceptable to do so. Tomas allowed her to stay for as long as she wanted, in exchange that she would put all the books back. 

When the candlesticks were burning threateningly low and not wanting to be the one to replace them, Byleth put them out and summoned a small light spirit instead. It bobbed back and forth, curious about the strange new world. _ It probably had never been this far from the Fade before_, Byleth thought, watching the spirit with some amusement. 

After the spirit was calm enough to be used as a light source, Byleth returned to her work on determining her newest recruits’ strengths and weaknesses. The former blue lion members had potential in magic, yet neither of them had ever bothered to hone the skill before. She scratched her head at that, why would you purposefully _ not _ learn something that was obviously beneficial to you?

In Thedas, she could understand the refusal of magic, but not _ here _ . Here, it would no doubt harper their choices in future career paths to pigeonhole yourself in only one skill set. She had already started to give reason magic lessons to Jose, and will _ definitely _ give the same to Felix. How did Hanneman not see such obvious budding talent?

The spirit suddenly whipped close to her person. It hugged close to her neck now, practically shivering in fear, “Huh, what is it, little buddy?” Was the new world too stressful for it to be in? Something from the corner of her eye moved. Byleth turned her head toward the moving figure that was hidden in the shadows, body tensing to attack at the ready. 

“It’s just me, professor.” The figure said. It sounded like Linhardt. 

“Linhardt?” Byleth asked the figure. She could see the figure’s head bob down and then up, or as the youngin’s say—a nod. Linhardt walked out of the shadows, his face now illuminated by the small spirit, whose light was now muffled as it rested against her hair. 

“What is that creature, professor?” He asked, eyes uncharacteristically wide with interest.

“Linhardt, what are you doing here? It’s way past curfew,” Byleth dodged the question, having no idea how to respond to his inquiry.

“I was napping,” Linhardt answered. He pointed at the spirit, “What is that?”

“A spirit,” Byleth said.

“How did it get here?” Linhardt asked, tilting his head to one said. He was practically right next to her now, reaching a finger out to touch the spirit, which shied away from him.

“I summoned it,” she was purposefully dragging out this impromptu interview that was happening. She _ really _ didn’t want to have this conversation right now. 

“Interesting. Is this an ability that only individuals of your crest can wield?”

“If I said no, will you stop this line of questioning?”

“No.” _ Damn, it was worth a shot. _

“If I said yes?”

“Of course not,” Linhardt said as if it was obvious. It was probably obvious, for Linhardt. 

“It’s something I was always able to do, so I’m not really sure,” Byleth lied. This spirit, this magic, it had nothing to do with crests, but she wasn’t sure if she was willing to spill the beans to Linhardt that _ hey Linnie, there’s a whole alternate world with their own set of magical rules and if you do it wrong you become _ ** _demonically possessed_ ** . Yeah, she wasn’t in the mood for _ that_, today. 

“Is being a light source all it can do?” Linhardt asked. 

“Well, for this particular one, yes. But some can heal,” Byleth explained. Wait, why did she say that? 

“Hey professor, let me join your house.”

“Ah,” Byleth said, in full panic mode, now. “Why do you wish to do that?”

“So I can have more ample opportunities to do research on these spirits of yours,” Linhardt said ever so nonchalantly. 

“Oh? Well, you have to get professor Manuela’s permission first,” Byleth said. She hoped Manuela would refuse. _ Oh Maker_, she hoped Manuela would refuse. 

“Of course,” Linhardt blinked. “I will ask her first thing in the morning. But for now,” Linhardt yawned, not at all trying to stifle it, “I must return to my room. It _ is _ past curfew, like you said.”

When Linhardt finally left the library, Byleth let out a breath she did not know she was holding. Her head slammed onto the table. Maker, _ please _ . Or should she be praying to the Goddess now? Whoever is up there in this world, _ please _ make Manuela refuse this transfer. 

Linhardt was in her class the next day, informing her that Manuela had accepted the transfer. “Andraste’s tits,” Byleth muttered under her breath.

“If these are any words of condolences, professor,” Linhardt told her before class began. “Even if professor Manuela had refused, I’d still be interested in you...as my research topic that is.” 

Thank the Maker he added the last part, for she felt Claude and Hilda’s eyes burrow into her skin before the last few words were attached after that _ prolonged _ gap of silence that made his words echo in the air. On the plus side...at least she had a second healer in her house. So...hurray?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to scream I spelled Linhardt wrong this whole time. Thank God for the 'Replace All' function. Why is it spelled like that, Linnie? The more I look at it, the more it doesn't look right.


	5. White Clouds - Mutiny in the Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exposition tea time with Lindhart, Ashe has a request, Felix for some reason has cake, and Byleth can't read(?).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, every time I wrote the name "Catherine" in this chapter, my fingers write "Cathering" first. Like, it's not even a word.

“I’ve noticed that your accent is very peculiar, professor,” Linhardt said, putting his tea cup down. “Is where you’re from the reason why you can summon those spirits?”

Byleth let out a sigh, “I don’t know where I am from, but I picked up my accent from my father.” Which was the half truth. You can pick up accents from parents, sure, but you are most likely to pick up accents in the environment you were raised in. And Ferelden had a very different accent to Fódlan, which sounded more like speech from the Free Marches. It was interesting, no matter where someone was from—Almarya, Duscur or Brigid, they all had Free Marches accents. 

Linhardt took a cookie and nibbled on it, his eyes boring into her skull—or at least it felt that way. “Can Sir Jeralt also summon these spirits, then?”

Byleth had no idea how to answer that.

“Your hesitation suggests yes.”

_ Crapbasket! _

“I’ve done extensive research, and have yet to come across any entries about powers such as yours.”

“As long as you keep up with your studies, it does not concern me what you do during your extracurricular time.”

“Your constant avoidance of this topic would suggest you are uncomfortable with it. A shame, really, as I find the topic wholeheartedly interesting. The fastest and easiest way of course is to get the answers directly from you. But I can perhaps try to find out for myself, acquiring texts unknown by the library, maybe?”

“Ah, please stop researching about it,” Byleth said. For a brief moment, she wondered if Linhardt were to find a tome in Thedas magic, would he attempt to use it? Of course he would, this is _ Linhardt _. What if he was magically inclined, tuned with the Fade? What if he was successful in summoning a spirit? His curiosity would no doubt urge him to attempt to summon stronger spirits. What if he summons a demon, one that was able to travel past the Fade into this world? What if it convinces him to-

“This ability of yours isn’t dangerous, is it?” Linhardt’s voice broke her out of her spiraling thoughts. Ignorance is bliss, is it not? But not to a scholar like Linhardt, it would just keep gnawing at him until he found out the answer. And if Byleth was not going to tell him the risks and precautions—the _ safe _ way—and he found the answer his own way....

“I will tell you, Linhardt,” Byleth breathed. “If you promise not to tell another soul about this.”

“I was assuming it would be something like this,” Linhardt said, taking another sip from his tea. “But I agree to your terms, professor.”

“You are correct in assuming that this ability of mine can be quite dangerous, but not for reasons that you might think.” Byleth said, finger tracing the edge of the tea cup. “It isn’t just like reason magic or a blade, where it can hurt people, and it isn’t just like faith magic where it can be used to heal, but it can also hurt the user.”

“Then why do you use it?” Linhardt asked. 

“I have a special connection to it, so it comes naturally to me. I’ve been trained in it for so long that it is like breathing to me, and I know of its dangers—but even then I can slip, falter my resolution or make a mistake, and it would all become unraveled. Why do I use it, you ask? Because I can. Besides, once you are tuned to the source, you can’t severe it without consequences. So you might as well train your ability to safeguard yourself from the dangers the ability holds.”

“What is this source?” Linhardt asked, tea and cookie forgotten. 

“It is called the Fade, an alternate reality that parallels to ours, filled with spirits and demons. Only certain people can have a connection to the Fade, and it is hereditary, sometimes skipping generations before popping back up in the bloodline,” Byleth takes another sip from her tea cup, its contents lukewarm by now. “So there is a chance one has the ability without even knowing, unless they are aware of it. Even if you don’t want to, a spirit or a demon can seek out those with vulnerable minds to take over their bodies, like children or the emotionally compromised, hence the danger. 

“So we train our abilities to communicate with those that are benevolent, to lend us their powers temporarily to achieve our goals—to become stronger in our control and resistance to those that want to cause us harm. The connection to the Fade is very weak now, but that doesn’t mean one can simply forget about it. Demons are known to take possession of those that are distracted while they sleep, and no one would be the wiser.”

“Is there a reason you didn’t want me to find this out on my own, professor? Linhardt asked gingerly. “I have my theories, but I would like to hear them from you.”

“Well, contrary to popular belief, I _ do _ care for my students,” Byleth said. “So on the off chance that you were tuned into the Fade, I didn’t want you to accidentally get possessed by a demon in the pursuit of knowledge. If they choose, they can try to manifest themselves physically into our world by using your physique, morphing your body into theirs. At that point, the only way to stop you is death.”

“And you think I would let a demon possess me just like that?” His tone wasn’t offended in the least bit, instead filled with curiosity.

Byleth shrugged, “Who knows? There’s plenty of demons with different tactics to get into your body. A sloth demon can entice you with the promise of eternal slumber, filled with dreams of paradise for the rest of your days. A desire demon can pry on your lust for knowledge, trading you answers in turn for your body. Or they could possess someone you love, with your help of course, and forced them into loving you back, gaining a body in the process. You don’t have a crush, do you?”

“Do I have a crush?” Linhardt asked. It was not a rhetorical question, but a genuine one aimed at Byleth, as if she was the one to know if he had a crush or not.

“If you are hesitating, then probably not,” Byleth answered anyways.

“Is that so?” Linhardt said, not quite satisfied, as if something else was still mulling around in that brain of his. “You said severing the connection to the Fade has consequences?”

“Ah, yes,” Byleth sighed, hating to talk about this topic in particular. “You can cut off your connection to the Fade, so that you will no longer be able to draw on it for power. But in turn, your emotional center is also removed, resulting in you to no longer feel anything. It’s called the Rite of Tranquility for a reason, because after it is performed on you, you won’t feel anything—not ever again. You will no longer have emotions or desire, not the kind to want, nor the kind to object, you would be a living doll.”

Linhardt’s face had an obvious question, and since Byleth was so far into this exposition territory, she might as well answer it. “I’ve met several tranquil—that’s what they’re called. One got tripped over by several kids and just got up like it was nothing. He collected his belongings with barely a blink before returning to his duties, muddied clothes and all. One stood in a room filled with demons, knowing full well he was not a desired suit of meat to possess and just waited there without fear until he was rescued. One worked for two days straight because people forgot to tell her to rest as they no longer desired the need to do so.”

“I do not think I’ve ever met such people,” Linhardt said, poring over his memories.

“Like I said, there’s barely any that are in tune with the Fade now. I think my father and I are the only ones in Fódlan that are.”

“I see. Thank you for sharing this with me,” Linhardt said, looking quite drained from all the new information. He had more questions, Byleth could tell, but she had left him with a lot of things to think about so he was probably satisfied. For the moment. Her tea was really cold now.

* * *

“Please, professor, let me join you on this moon’s mission,” Ashe pleaded Byleth, bowing low. Ah, another Blue Lion. Byleth would feel bad if she took another one, how would Dimitri feel that she’s stealing all his classmates from him? Wait, Ashe looks serious—this isn’t the time to joke around.

“Ashe, I don’t think I feel comfortable with the notion of bringing a child into battle against his own father,” Byleth said. Adoptive or not, it would just be plain _wrong_ to force a child to fight a parent in a situation just like this. Also, is a mutiny not a very _serious_ _political_ endeavor that should _not_ be handled by children in _training_? Preparing them for the real world was one thing, but this...what was Rhea thinking? Lord Lonato has a vendetta against Catherine, didn’t he? Why drag Byleth’s students into this?

“Please, professor,” Ashe repeated, breaking Byleth out of her train of thought. “I think that I should be there, if there is a way that I could convince him, if there was a chance, I would like to be there. I-” Ashe straightened his posture, “I _ need _ to be there.”

“Ashe...” Byleth whispered. “I can’t make you stay, but you need to be a hundred percent sure you want to come with us for me to bring you along.”

Ashe gulped, “I’m sure, professor.” Byleth doubted his words, but she couldn’t just say no to a face like that. 

“You students are going to be the death of me...” Byleth said under her breath. 

“I’m sorry, what was that, professor?”

Byleth coughed into her hand, “I said that you are allowed to join on the mission.”

“Oh! Thank you, professor!” Ashe said, bowing head low with the greatest earnest.

“We leave at dawn,” Byleth informed him. “Make sure to go to bed early before the morning of, okay Ashe?”

“Yes, professor, of course, professor!” Ashe said before skittering away, a face full of relief with a hint of trepidation. Byleth gathered her papers in preparation to leave the classroom, there was a lot to grade for the night and she would rather process them in the comforts of her own room. That, and she can talk to Sothis without looking like an absolute loon. As she stepped into the hallway, she was greeted by a sudden appearance of Felix. This would not have been all that strange except for the fact that he was holding a plate of cake.

“I didn’t know you liked cakes,” Byleth said, jotting it down mentally for their next tea party. 

“I don’t,” Felix said. Byleth took cake off the menu.

“Ah,” Byleth waved her hand in the plate’s direction, unsure of what is going on. “Then what is happening here?”

“Ly-_someone _ just gave me this cake,” Felix sighed. “And then they just left me with it.”

“That is...strange,” Byleth said.

“I agree,” Felix nodded. 

“Well, good luck with that.” Byleth turned around to head to her dorm room. Felix opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it soon after. It took him quite a while to get rid of the cake. And by ridding of it, he actually offloaded it onto a kid that was wandering around the monastery. It took a lot of convincing that the cake _ wasn’t _poisoned. His resting face of irritation did not help with the convincing.

Back in her dorm room, Sothis could not help but sigh at the tests Byleth was grading.

“Is there a problem, Sothis?” She asked her...friend?

Sothis sighed and shook her head, “I do not get why you like to treat your students so.”

“Hey, give me a break now,” Byleth said, the side of her lip twitching downward, “I’ve never taught before so I thought a multiple choice exam would be easy on all parties involved. Besides, I have known how to read and write in this language for only five years. Give me a break—it is already a miracle that they’re the same verbally in the first place.” Byleth really does not know if her grasp of the written language is fluent enough to read college level essays. From students, sure—_b__ut still _.

“Byleth, all the answers on the exam is ‘C’,” Sothis said, practically exasperated. 

“Hey, not all of them. The last one is ‘A’,” Byleth pointed at the question on Hilda’s test. Sure enough, the girl marked ‘C’ instead. “Heh, Hilda fell for it.”

“That’s exactly what I mean!” Sothis berated the professor. “You’re supposed to be teaching these children, not trick them into getting exam questions incorrect. There should not be any ‘falling for it’ type of scenario. Did you see Ignatz during the exam? The poor boy was stressing over the question and checked his work thrice.”

“As they should,” Byleth shrugged. “It’s not my problem they lack confidence in their answers. Or in Hilda’s case, think that they can shirk their responsibility in not reading the problem at all. Think of the exam as a double test, one for their academic knowledge and the other a lesson on life.”

Sothis rolled her eyes at the obvious cop out answer. She looked over Byleth’s shoulder to see Claude’s paper. On the last question, written in the margin of the page in his handwriting read, ‘Nice try, teach,’ followed by a drawn figure with its tongue sticking out. This caused Sothis to sigh, “You two are like peas in a pod, I swear.”

“Hey, it’s Claude,” Byleth said, marking the paper as a 100 with a smiley face. “He might be a schemer, but he’s very charismatic. His smile might be fake, but there’s just something about him that draws your attention towards him. No one dislikes Claude.”

“_ No one _?” Sothis hummed. 

“Ah, maybe not Seteth,” Byleth said, flipping over to Raphael’s paper. The brawler only marked half of his paper correctly. He truly tried, bless his heart. “But this is Seteth we are talking about. He dislikes everyone.”

“For some reason, you saying that gives me a great amount of rage,” Sothis replied. 

“Oh? Does Flayn have a little sister I should tell her about?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I am not a child,” Sothis frowned. “Regardless, I do not remember, so continuing with this tactless conversation is a misuse of our time. What we _ should _ be worrying about is your style of creating examinations. Which is to say, you have none.”

“Does my Lady wish to create the next one for me, then?” Byleth asked, fluttering her eyelashes. 

“If this is a trick for me to do your job for you, then it is not working,” Sothis huffed. 

“It was worth a shot,” the professor mused, returning to Raphael’s exam. He got the last question correct! Good for him. 

* * *

“Hey, teach, if you poach any more of His Highness’s classmates, he’s going to develop a complex,” Claude informed Byleth when he saw Ashe amongst the crowd.

“He is only helping out on the mission,” Byleth waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t think he has any inclination to transfer houses.”

“Yeah, but if he did, you wouldn’t say no, now would you?” Claude said with bemusement. Byleth did not offer his question with a reply, making Claude crack a wide smirk. 

“We are going to run out of seats at this rate,” Hilda whined. 

“Maybe you should arrive to class earlier if you’re afraid your seat will be taken,” Byleth suggested. 

“Hey, I sat in that seat for the first two weeks of class. That makes it my seat,” Hilda said, puffing her cheeks. “It is only classroom etiquette.” Not any etiquette Byleth had heard about. But then again, she never went to school. 

“I hope he doesn’t join...” Byleth said. “Hilda’s right, we’re going to reach a maximum occupancy in the classroom.” She can’t possibly personally see through everyone’s progress with so many students. She could only stretch herself so thin across so many pupils. The thought of leaving some slip through the cracks under her care made her stomach heavy. 

“You know, professor. You could always reject their offer of transfer if it bothers you so much,” Leonie suggested, slowing her horse’s stride. 

“Yeah...” Byleth sucked air through her teeth. “But...”

“But you can’t say no, can you, teach?” Claude said with a crafty smile. Byleth could practically feel Leonie’s judgemental stare.

Byleth wanted this conversation to end right about now. “Hey, if it is in my capacity to grant it, I do not see any reason to reject someone’s wishes. And besides, I’m not the only professor that has to agree to it.”

“Regardless, I would suggest against it,” Lorenz appeared from the rear suddenly, slightly startling Byleth. “It would be unwise to overwork yourself.”

“Okay, when you guys are the ones teaching me, I’ll let you decide how to conduct your business,” Byleth firmly halted the conversation. “You two,” Byleth pointed at Lorenz and Leonie. “Scout ahead and inform us of any anomalies.”

“You want me to go with Leonie?” Lorenz asked, a strained smile upon his lips. 

“Is that a problem?” Leonie quirked an eyebrow. 

“Of course not,” Lorenz replied. Leonie gave him a look before going off path to stay hidden. Lorenz sighed and followed suit. 

“I do not know why you insist on pairing them in every assignment that they do.” Hilda shook her head. “They obviously have a dislike for each other.”

“You don’t always get to work with those you like,” Byleth hummed. “Not to mention these two will bring out the best in each other. They’re both competitive in their own way, so to speak. Leonie very much likes to prove her strength on the field, especially against her male peers. Lorenz wants to better himself in order to serve the common folk as the ideal nobleman—so no doubt he would want to strive for success when confronted with a skeptic like Leonie. Their ideals are really quite similar, deep down, wanting to make the lives of others better than it is now. So they’re not really so different, after all. They’ll become close friends in no time.”

“Wow, professor,” Hilda said, impressed, “You really put a lot of thought into this. I wish you would put more thought into putting a delicate flower like me on the battlefield, though. On the frontlines, no less.”

Without missing a beat, Byleth replies, “Oh, you’re there because you’re really strong.”

Hilda gasped, “I am _ not _strong, you take that back.”

Byleth gives her a blank stare, “You are carrying around an iron axe like it weighs _ nothing _. And I will not push you into something you are incapable of. And judging by all of those bandits at your feet the last time we went on a mission, I say you’re more than capable of being in the frontlines.”

“They came towards _ me _,” Hilda said, recalling the memory very vividly, “I was only defending myself.”

“Yeah, but you swung that axe around enemy after enemy. They all went down in one or two hits,” Byleth assured her. Why was it so difficult for this girl to take a compliment. Aren’t people happy when others say they’re strong? “You’ve more than earned your place in the frontlines. In fact, I believe that you truly know your capabilities and are only just hiding it for personal reasons.”

“Claude!” Hilda turned to her friend for help, “Please tell the professor that she is severely wrong in this poor judgement of hers.”

“I don’t know, Hilda,” Claude said, smirking with his hands supporting the back of his head, “The way you chant your name after every fight you win is damning evidence that not only do you know that you’re strong, but you revel in it.”

“Traitors, the lot of you!” Hilda sniffed, “I’m going to Marianne, the only true friend I have!”

* * *

“Professor, where are you going?” Ashe asked Byleth. 

“This mist is magical,” Byleth informed him. It just felt unnatural. “And the one responsible is this way. I’m going to flank them.”

Worry immediately flashed across Ashe’s face, “By yourself?” 

“It’ll be quicker this way. I can move faster on my own.” Byleth answered him. “It will not take long.”

Ashe grabbed Byleth’s wrist, successfully gaining her attention before abruptly letting go, “I-I’m sorry. I just-”

“You wish to come with me,” Byleth said. Ashe nodded meekly. “It is too dangerous, Ashe-”

“_Please _, professor. Like you said, it’ll be quicker. If we’re quick, after you take out the mage. We can find Lonato. We can convince him that this bloodshed is unnecessary.”

“Ashe, you do realize you are volunteering to go behind enemy lines to confront someone that might not even listen to you.”

“You don’t know that!” Ashe _ snapped_. Silence hung in the air to allow Byleth to process the information that _ Ashe _ just raised his voice at her. “Professor Byleth _ please _, let me try.”

“You’re just going to follow me if I say no,” Byleth concluded. What is with these kids and doing dangerous shite that could get them killed? It’s as if they had no sense of self preservation. The professor had two choices before her. One, take Ashe with her and potentially get him killed. Two, leave him and have him chase after her, potentially getting him killed. The answer was obvious. She turned to the relic user, who was slicing through people like they were swiss cheese. “Catherine, me and Ashe are going to flank without a battalion.”

Catherine stopped fighting and looked between the two of them, and barked a laugh. Upon realizing that it was _ not _ a joke, her voice quickly became annoyed and angry at the same time. “Are you two nuts?”

“Probably. This is very unprofessional of me, I know, but we’re going,” Byleth said. “I have a way to navigate the mist, but it would be impossible to do it with a large group. Keep my students alive, thanks, bye.” And with that, Byleth grabbed Ashe with her hand and bolted into the mist. 

“Hey, wait!-” Catherine called out. Before she could chase them, an enemy attempted to attack her from behind, only to be killed in one quick slash of her Thunderbrand. Catherine clicked her tongue in annoyance, “If you survive, I am going to kill you myself,” she muttered. 

Meanwhile, Ashe and Byleth continued to run into the woods at a dangerously high speed. They stopped near a bush and before Ashe can question the professor, she hushed him quiet. “Whatever happens next remains a secret between the two of us.”

Before Ashe could ask what Byleth could possibly mean, the professor summoned a spirit. It bobbed up and down playfully, flying circles around Byleth’s head. Ashe did not know what to say, for he was too shocked. Also, he actually didn’t know what to say. 

With a flick of her fingers, the spirit zipped past their hiding place, encountering a group of people. Without a shadow of a doubt, the ambushed had no idea what to make of the spirit that was pestering them. Between the leaves of their hiding spot, Ashe could see them try to slash their weapons at it in vain. 

“Ashe, you need to turn around and close your eyes.”

“But professor-”

“Trust me, Ashe,” Byleth said. “Please. This is the quickest way we can get to Lonato.” 

Ashe did not know what he expected when he turned his back towards the enemy, but he could feel the air around him shift. The leaves of the bush they were hiding behind rustled as a terrifying roar of a large beast echoed within the trees. 

“What in the blazes,” shouted a man before the sound of fabric ripping followed by a strangled cry cut his words short. 

“Kill it! Kill it!” Screamed a woman. Whatever the beast was roared once more as more voices screamed in terror. There was a sudden _ thud _ next to Ashe as something flew through the bush, missing him by a foot or two. Between his fingers, Ashe sneaked a peek at the unknown object that had almost hit him.

“My leg!” Went another scream.

He wished he hadn’t.

“No!” Wailed another.

Laying not even a meter from him was a man—or what was left of one. His body was mangled, and big claw marks were scratched across his face, leaving it a bloody mess. His throat had been crushed in, leaving a pool of blood that only seemed to grow larger the more he stared. 

Bile threatened to push past his throat but Ashe kept it down. The leaves of the bush rustled once more and Ashe’s hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He squeezed his eyes shut, noticing the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. It was now he realized that the forest was once more eerily quiet aside from the sounds of battle in the direction they once came. 

Something wet and padded pushed against his fingers, causing Ashe to flinch and scramble backwards, only to be stopped by the bush. Before him, was a _ bear_. Blood was matted against the fur around its mouth and paws, indicating that it was the same beast who just went on a mauling spree. The dark eyes of the bear stared into the boy, but it did not move. Ashe raised his arms above him in an attempt to protect himself. 

“P-professor!” he called for help. The bear grunted. Silence. The bear did not move from its spot. “...Professor?” The bear then _ nodded_. “H-how?”

The professor, being a _ bear_, could not reply to him. Instead, she only laid down, clocking her head towards her back. Ashe looked around, as if this was an offer to someone else _ other _ than him (he then noticed the fog was gone, but more importantly his professor _ being a bear was higher on his list of priorities at the moment _). 

“You want me to get on?” Ashe asked. Professor Bear-lyth nodded. This was some surreal dream he was experiencing. It had to be. Carefully, the archer climbed onto the professor’s back, careful to not push too hard or grab onto anything too tight, muttering a few apologies on the way. 

Once Ashe was situationed as safely as he could upon Byleth’s back, she bounded off. The sudden movement forward almost knocked Ashe off of the professor, making him grab onto her fur a little bit too forcibly to regain his balance. If it hurt, Byleth did not say anything as she continued to run. Ashe lowered himself into her back, not wanting to fall off, hoping that he wasn’t gripping her fur too tight. 

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before he realized she stopped. Byleth lowered herself for Ashe to get off, his hands almost numb from gripping too tight.

“There’s Lonato,” Byleth told him, causing Ashe to flinch. When did she turn back. He stared at her with wide eyes. “What? Is there something on my face?” Byleth asked, wiping a blood smear on her chin. It actually made it worst. 

“Yes, actually,” Ashe said with an uncomfortable laughter, “It’s a lot of blood.”

“Oh,” Byleth said, looking down at her hands. What once were paws were now human fingers covered in fresh blood. Byleth frowned a bit before using her coat to wipe off the blood from her hands and face. “Better? Am I, hypothetically, in a suitable and presentable state to prostrate myself before a lord?” Or what she really is asking: _ Do I look like I just killed a whole battalion with my mouth and “bear” heads _ . Hehe. **Bear** hands. Get it? Because ** _bare_ ** _ ha- _

“Professor....I have a lot of questions, but now is not the time.”

“Right, right,” Byleth said, “Whenever you’re ready, we will confront Lonato.”

“Please do not maul Lonato to death,” Ashe pleaded before stepping out into view. 

Byleth blinked. “I wasn’t going to,” she muttered under her breath.

“Stand down, Ashe.” Lonato’s voice boomed from atop his horse as soon as he saw them. Maker, he had a lot of battalions. “I must destroy these evil-doers by any means necessary!”

“Please surrender Lonato!” Ashe called out in desperation towards his father. “Whatever your reasons for doing this, we can still talk it out!”

Lonato in turn does not budge, as if he did not even consider the feelings of those he was hurting from committing this act of treason. “Rhea is an infidel who has deceived the people and desecrated the Goddess! We have virtue and the Goddess herself on our side!”

Ironic, was it not? Byleth could care less what brought upon this crazed need for rebellion, but like Rhea, he too have brought innocent beings into this conflict. Byleth regretted bringing Ashe along. He should have stayed at the Officer’s Academy.

But-

...She knew that Ashe would not have rested either way if he had not come with them. The feeling of dread knowing that either your father or your friends would die must have gnawed so furiously at the boy. He cared so much for this man. And yet no other words can describe the look in the paladin’s eyes as much as fury. 

Ashe’s determination wavered. Byleth nodded at the boy in reassurance as the boy continued. “Even if all that's true, dragging the townsfolk into it like this isn't right!”

“Enough. If that is how you feel, prepare yourself,” Lonato said as he readied his javelin. The little color Ashe had on his face was drained from him as the gravity of the situation hit him. There was no remorse in the lord’s voice as he warned them of his attack, “I'm putting an end to this!”

“You fool!” Byleth hissed at Lonato as she grabbed Ashe’s shoulder to push him away. The boy was small and light, making it all the more easier to force him out of the way of the thrown weapon. Did he not care for Ashe’s wellbeing? What kind of father was he? Byleth put her body in front of Ashe’s in a protective stance, practically growling at their adversary. 

With her right hand now free, Byleth squeezed it into a fist. There was an emotion bubbling inside her now, something she had not felt this intensely for another person. It made a lump form in her throat and by the Maker it was _ uncomfortable _. 

By the time the giant stonefist had knocked out a few of the lord’s knights, Byleth now recognized this emotion. 

It was anger. 

Ashe stared with wide eyes as Byleth waved her hands in the air in fluid motions, only to have the ground shake before them like an earthquake. What was truly strange is that although Ashe could feel the tremors below his feet as the earth shook, he himself was completely absolved of the effect. It was as if the earthquake had activated inside a small plot of land, completely in control of the woman before him. Several of the horses got spooked and ran off, leaving Lonato to only be protected by a select few. 

“What in the blazes-” Lonato said, calming his horse. His eyes soon fell onto Byleth, who stood up strongly. “_What _ are you?”

Byleth did not even acknowledge his question. She was ready to fire some serious magic at him. But the sound of horses alerted her to incoming forces. Looking over her shoulder, Byleth recognized the purple and orange heads of hair immediately. Reinforcements arrived a little too early, with the mist having been cleared, Catherine and her students made quick work of the remaining enemy forces. Byleth muttered a curse, knowing full well Thedas magic was no longer a viable option. 

She looked at Ashe, who was now standing with an arrow in his bow, ready to fire. He let several arrows loose at those that tried to rejoin Lonato, leaving the man exposed by himself on an open field. Byleth too shifted stances, hand on her sword. Lonato was already being healed from the sigil he stood on, Byleth had to act quick. 

“This is your last warning, Lonato,” Byleth told him. “Stand down, or I will take you down.”

“Impudent brat,” Lonato seethed. “I will not fall!”

“So be it,” Byleth breathed. “I am sorry, Ashe.” Byleth ran forward with her sword drawn. As she approached Lonato’s horse, the paladin thrust his lance down in her direction (why was it called a lance? Why was it not a spear?). Byleth ducked from the attack, staying low to the ground. “Sorry, horsie,” she whispered quietly as she sliced the right legs of the horse. The equine whinnied in pain as it staggered off balance. 

“Lonato!” Ashe screamed. The tip of his arrow quivered just as much as his voice. “Lonato...please, stop. You don’t have to do this.”

“Stand down, Ashe,” Lonato repeated his words. “This is for Christophe. For what that filthy servant of Rhea did to him!”

As if on cue, Byleth slapped his horse on its rear. The horse attempted to flee, but with its right side injured, it only managed to trot a few steps before collapsing under its weight. Lonato fell with it, but he managed to roll his body away from being crushed underneath the horse’s weight. _ He is very spry for an old man_, Byleth mused. 

“You!” Lonato turned and pointed his lance at Byleth.

Byleth spread her arms wide, taunting the old man, “Me.”

“Lonato!” Catherine screamed as she entered the fray. Suddenly, it was as if Lonato was seeing red. He honed in onto Catherine in an instant. The change in direction shocked Byleth, but Ashe’s reaction was faster. With painful accuracy, Ashe manages to knock an arrow into an opening joint in his armor, incapacitating Lonato. The man once more fell down in agony. All Catherine had to do was strike him down with one fell swoop. Ashe looked at his trembling hands in dismay, letting go of his weapons at the realization of what he just done.

“The vile woman..,” Lonato said through gritted teeth. “Christophe...Forgive me...”

His last words faltered, but the impact it had on Ashe was profound. _ It’s like you forgot that Ashe was also your son_, Byleth thought bitterly. 

“Lonato, I...” Ashe said, with tears threatening to overflow.

“I never thought I’d see Lonato meet this fate,” Catherine said with remorse in her voice. “Well done, everyone. Let’s gather our troops and go.”

They allowed Ashe to mourn over the corpse that was once his adoptive father for only a few minutes. But within those few minutes, Byleth had never witnessed such grief. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to write things seriously, I really do. But then I need to joke or I feel sad.
> 
> Ashe: probably gets traumatized at the fact that his professor just turned into a bear and mauled several people.  
Me: *inserts bear pun*


	6. It’s Getting Hot in Here (but please keep on your clothes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth goes to the Fade and Jeralt discovers something unsettling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with my bad chapter titles ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

She overexerted herself. Byleth knew that. Among the private tutorings, personal check-ins, and her other general teaching duties, Byleth went ahead and used a lot of Thedas magic yesterday. Despite being low on magic reserves, despite being a lot weaker now, despite the danger. She shapeshifted, something she hadn’t done in _ years _and she almost lost herself. She forced the earth to quake longer than she needed to, running her magic in low levels of danger.

And because of that, she passed out as soon as she got back to her dorm room. Byleth didn’t even make it to her bed. Her last memory was Sothis shouting her name as she collapsed onto the floor. 

Byleth woke up on her bed, buried under more covers than she remembered having. Her body felt hot and cold at the same time and all she wanted to do was kick the blankets off of her. But she hadn’t the strength. Byleth could barely see, even, her vision blurry as she gazed around her room.

“You’re awake, kid,” Jeralt’s voice welcomed her back into the waking world.

“Papa...” She tried to say, instead her throat was too parched to properly produce a sound. It came out like sandpaper. 

Jeralt shushed her as he lifted her head up, a cool vial was pressed against her lips. A familiar liquid trickled into her mouth and she forced herself to swallow it all despite the pain.

“Lyrium....?” She asked. It was all she could say.

“Don’t worry about that,” her father told her. “Worry about getting better. Focus on that. I’ll be here. I know you can do this., I believe in you.”

And she drifted to sleep. 

Byleth woke up in the Fade, feeling quite nervous about being back in the green plane. It tickled her skin, giving her a sense of familiarity. As if it was saying, _ I will always be here _. 

“**You’re weak**,” a distorted raspy voice berated her. Byleth turned to the sound of the voice. It had been a long time since she saw one. But she was met face to face with the unmistakable molten form of a rage demon. A _ greater _ rage demon. “ **The past you wouldn’t have passed out from using such minuscule amount of magic.**”

“It’s understandable-” Byleth defended herself. “I’m not in Thedas anymore.”

“**Excuses**,” another told her. “**You only have yourself to blame.**”

“**You’re holding yourself back,**” another voice chimed in. How many were there? 

“No,” Byleth said, covering her ears. She tried to block them out. But it was no use The demons were speaking into her mind. “No, no, no. Shut up. Shut up.”

“**What if you hadn’t been fast enough?**”

“I ran as fast as I could. I took out the horse as fast as I could.”

“**Or strong enough to scatter his forces?**”

“But I was. It left a more manageable amount of enemies to deal with.”

“**You led that boy into danger.**”

“It was his choice-”

“**Something could have happened to him.**”

“**Instead, you took the life of his father.**”

“**Right in front of him.**”

“**You could have prevented that.**”

“**You just weren’t ** ** _strong_ ** ** enough.**”

“No, stop it. Shut up,” Byleth squeezed her hands against her ears even harder. The voices only became louder. They started to overlap with one another. Their tones became more vile. The hissing and the echoing just wouldn’t stop. “Shut up!”

The air surrounding her dropped several degrees. Byleth opened her eyes to the frozen forms of the rage demons before her. There were only four of them. Why were they so loud? They were silent now, encapsulated in the ice. 

Carefully, Byleth snuck past the demons, as if somehow by touching them, it’d break the spell that kept them contained. She exited the room she was in, only to find a misty familiar landscape with a green haze. She was at the school dormitory. Turning around, Byleth realized she had just left _ her _ room. What was going on? Why was the Fade showing this to her?

It sure was the grounds of the academy, but something was off about it. It was quite eerie, to say the least. Byleth made her way to the classrooms, finding herself retracing her daily routine. When she made it into her classroom, the last thing she expected was a demon waiting for her.

The desire demon made itself at home, laying itself comfortably across her desk. When it sensed Byleth enter, the demon sat up and stretched, exaggerating its movements. 

“**What took you so long, little one?**”

“What are you doing here?” Byleth asked. 

“**A question with a question? Someone wasn’t taught manners.**” The desire demon smiled and slinked off her desk, sauntering over slowly. Its hips swayed dramatically, giving emphasis on its feminine physique and the disproportionate amount of clothing it wore to cover it.

Byleth reached for her sword, only to find nothing. She checked on her dagger, and it was also gone.

“**Missing something?** ” The demon cooed. “ **Why do you rely on such trinkets when you can have all the power in the palm of your hand?**”

“So I can prevent myself from meeting arseholes like you,” Byleth said. The demon’s smile only grew wider as it took another step forward. “Get any closer and I’ll show you just what I can do without my weapons.”

“**I have no doubt that you are strong, little one,** ” the demon said, unfazed by the threat. “ **But haven’t you notice that you could be stronger?**” 

It reached its hand out to Byleth, only to have elemental blades stop it in its tracks.

“Stop saying that,” Byleth spat. “You demons are doing a poor job in seducing me. Is this negative reinforcement a tactic to get me to give you permission to possess me?”

“**That’s where you are wrong, little one**,” the desire demon chuckled. It licked its lips, “ **I’m not asking.**”

A ripple of pain shot through Byleth’s back as a burst of flames exploded on impact. In an instant, Byleth side stepped to her left, away from the demons. The rage demons broke out and were assisting the desire demon now, angrier than before, but how did they get so close to her? She should have sensed them coming. 

Byleth raised her hand to summon winter once again, but this time most of them break away from the ice instantly. It didn’t even have an effect on the desire demon. Byleth cussed under her breath, retreating further into the left side of the classroom as she shot arcane bolts in their direction.

“**What’s wrong?** ” The desire demon asked. “ **Not used to fighting without your toys?**”

“You ask a lot of questions for something that is supposed to know my every desire,” Byleth hissed. “So shut up and just fight.”

“**With pleasure,** ” it said before charging at her. Byleth took a chair and smashed it against its face, eliciting a scream of pain as it staggered backwards. Focusing her magic in a concentrated area, Byleth conjured a cone of cold aimed at the demons. Two of them froze on the spot, and Byleth quickly summoned a stonefist to shatter them. “**You brat!**”

“Don’t get your smallclothes in a twist,” Byleth informed the desire demon. Did it even wear smallclothes? It didn’t _ look _ like it. She picked up another chair and threw it at the being once more. It caught the demon off guard _ again_, breaking upon impact, making it stagger backwards and crash into some of the desks. Byleth hopped over the desks, repositioning herself to the exit of the room, causing a lightning chain reaction among the remaining demons in the process. 

The bolt of lightning ricocheted several times before dissipating, only managing to provoke the desire demon even more. It got up from its fall and rushed towards the young mage. Byleth hurled yet _ another _ chair at it, but this time her wooden weapon crashed harmlessly against an arcane shield. 

“**Stop ** ** _doing_ ** ** that**,” it hissed. 

“Make me, you walking fashion disaster,” Byleth taunted.

“**You’re one to talk!**” the desire demon screamed as it squeezed its fist. Byleth could feel her health drain, making her weak in the knees. A rage demon that was knocked down from her chain lightning grabbed at her ankles, its aura of fire burning her instantly. With its remaining strength, the rage demon easily pulled Byleth down, forcing her to slam painfully against the floor. 

Distracted by the pain, the desire demon had no problem in putting Byleth under a horrored state, making her scream in agony as maleficent spirits infected her mind.

“Get out, get out, _ get out_,” Byleth screamed. She forced the demon’s attack out of her head. Byleth grasped the rage demon that held her down with the coldest hand she could muster, watching with satisfaction as frost particles crackled on its surface. Once its claw had froze over, Byleth kicked her foot free. 

The young mage pressed herself against a wall to force herself up, careful to not put pressure on the injured foot. Desperately, Byleth started to head for the exit.

“**Where do you think you’re going, little one?**” the desire demon mused, putting a glyph of repulsion at the archway, knocking Byleth backwards. She tripped over the demon she just froze, sending herself into the body of the remaining rage demon. Byleth’s form hissed against the demon’s molten body as she screamed. 

The demon wrapped its lanky arms around her, imprisoning her in its hold. The smell of burning flesh emanated through the air, the stench almost suffocating Byleth. The desire demon rolled its eyes, and impressive feat as it had no visible pupils. “**Be a dear and silence her, the screaming is starting to make my head hurt.**” 

The rage demon pressed a clawed hand against Byleth’s mouth, burning more of her skin in the process. Byleth’s muffled cries could be heard for a few more seconds before dying out. Byleth no longer struggled, instead she started to transform the pain into more mana. She hated using this spell, because it actually involved her getting hurt to benefit her in any way. Byleth’s mind cleared as her body numbed itself. She could feel her magical reserves filling rapidly to the point of overflowing. 

_ Don’t pass out_, Byleth told herself. _ Don’t pass out_, she repeated. Byleth could feel the electricity within her fingertips. This was a big gamble, and this could easily backfire on her. But she’s been keeping track on how much damage everyone in the room was taking. Byleth knew she had more health than the rage demon.

She shot the lightning at her captor, feeling its grip tighten on her as the demon’s body convulsed. The shock soon lept into her body as well, zipping through her body at an absurd pace. But the rage demon’s hold on her slacked just before Byleth passed out. What was left of it was a pile of ashes. But Byleth was still awake, and she gave a smirk over her shoulder.

“**How are you still alive?** ” The desire demon shrieked, rushing over to Byleth. It kicked her down to the ground, forcing Byleth onto her stomach. “ **Why won’t you just keel over and ** ** _die_ ** **?**”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Byleth breathed. “You haven’t noticed anything at all since the battle started?”

The desire demon looked at her with a frown. What had the little wench done? Its skin stopped tingling during the moment of silence. Wait. Stopped? It was tingling in the first place? Had it been happening since the beginning? The desire demon eyes widened upon realization, ‘**You!** ” It snarled. The demon stomped on Byleth’s back, forcing air out of her lungs. “ **You’ve been draining our health with your aura. Clever trick, little one. But it looks like you’re now out of mana to even defend yourself.**”

“What can I say,” Byleth gasped for air from underneath the demon. “I perform the best when under pressure.” With so many greater rage demons in one place, it was a wonder Byleth had survived so long in their auras of fire. Activating her draining aura at the same time had countered the effects to some extent, but it could only get her so far with the spell rapidly depleting her magical reserves. 

“**But it would seem your luck has run out. It would seem that I will have to bid you ** ** _adieu_****. Now, now, don’t look so sad. This was a great way to blow off steam before entering the physical world,** ” the desire demon said. “**Although I could do with less of the chair throwing**.”

_ But that was the best part _, Byleth lazily thought. 

The demon’s nostrils flared, “**It was ** ** _not_ ** **.**”

_ Right....they can read minds... _Byleth’s eyelids drooped heavily.

“Must I always rescue you from your recklessness?” A voice jolted Byleth awake. The familiar sensation of a divine pulse came and went in an instant. She was sitting up once more, and the desire demon was still at its previous post from across the room.

“**What,**” the demon said, equally as shocked as Byleth. A bolt of flames arched through the air and landed in the creature’s face. Byleth was too busy watching the demon struggle to put the fire out she had almost missed the small hand being extended towards her.

“Sothis?” Byleth asked. She reached out to accept the hand and was able to _ hold it_. “Sothis, you’re here for real?”

Sothis helped Byleth to her feet, “I am just as surprised as you are. This is the Fade, as you call it? It would seem that I am able to physically manifest myself into this plane. My control over time extends to this form as well.”

“Talk about convenient,” Byleth said with a small smile. 

“**What is going on?** ” The desire demon demanded, having finally able to clear the flames from its head. Well, aside from the purple one that seem to represent its hair. It was lucky it was bald in the first place. “**How did you do that?**”

“Although it would seem that these creatures are aware of its effects just like you and I do,” Sothis concluded.

“Must be a demon thing,” Byleth nodded. The distraction from Sothis was all she needed to regain enough mana for one last trick. Luckily for her, there was a splintered chair leg that was just within her grasp. It had broken off in an angle that much resembled a stake. It was perfect. 

“**Hey. Stop ignoring me,**” the desire demon bellowed. It directed a flame blast at the two, which was countered by Sothis’s own fire. 

Byleth looked to Sothis, “Do you mind engaging it for a bit? I have a plan.”

“It had been quite some time since I was last in battle,” Sothis said. “If I recall, it would seem I was quite proficient in it. I might as well. Do not take too long. And I will not treat you in kind if you were to leave.” 

“I would never leave you,” Byleth assured her. Sothis nodded before throwing three balls of fire at the demon in quick succession. The demon growled, putting a hex of misdirection on Sothis. This caused Sothis’s following attacks to miss, making her frown. Sothis in turned started to _ increase _ her firing rate, overwhelming the demon, forcing it into a defensive stance. The more shields it put up around itself, the faster it got destroyed by Sothis. Byleth looked down at the chair leg she held in her hand. She covered the makeshift stake in frost, forming a perfect icicle for stabbing. 

With one hand, Byleth lifted up one last chair. “Hey look, you gaudy looking she-devil! I have a present for you!”

Byleth threw the chair into the air, arching it along with several of Sothis’s fireballs. The elemental attack stripped what was left of the demon’s defenses before it was decked into the face by the chair.

“**What is your deal with these stupid ** ** _chairs?_ **” The demon screamed as it recoiled from the impact. 

“Because I can do this with one of its legs,” Byleth informed the demon. She was right in front of it now, her dominant hand on the stake with her other supporting its flat side. The pointed end of the iced weapon was directly over the demon’s chest. Byleth had used the last attack to get close to it, the last thing a demon would have thought a mage would do. 

Good thing Byleth wasn’t just a mage. 

“It would seem that I have to bid you _ adieu_,” Byleth said, practically cooing at the demon. Byleth plunged the stake into its chest, making it gasp. “Now, now, don’t look so sad.” The ice spread from the stake as it began to freeze the demon’s organs. “This was a great way to blow off steam.”

The last thing the desire demon did was scream at Byleth, claws at the ready to gouge her eyes out. But it was too late. The ice had frozen it from the inside out. Byleth took a step back before completely destroying the new ice sculpture with a stonefist. Byleth turned to her smaller friend, who was even smaller when she wasn’t floating in the air.

Byleth gave Sothis a great hug, “Thank you.”

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” was all the smaller woman can say. 

“I would if I could,” Byleth told her friend. “But I can’t because I have no idea. I’ve never had a dream about the Fade this strong before. And I haven’t had one where demons actively tracked me down to kill me.”

Sothis looked at the ceiling of the classroom. Byleth looked around to survey the demolished classroom. Thank the Maker this was the Fade, because a lot of the furniture was destroyed in the fight. Okay, most of it was Byleth’s fault, but _ still_.

“It would seem your father is trying to rouse you from slumber,” Sothis told her.

“What?” Byleth asked. 

And then her eyes were open.

“Byleth,” Jeralt said, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. “You’re awake. You made it.”

“Papa?” Byleth asked. Her strength was back now, and she was able to sit up on her own. “Papa, what happened? I was in the Fade and these demons came after me. Especially this desire demon with _ really _ large and distracting breasts-” Byleth mimed the mammary glands over her own. Why did demons even need breasts? There weren’t any demon babies that needed milk. 

“Yeah, I would like you to not do that in front of your father,” Jeralt said. “It’s so good to have you back, Byleth.” He brushed some bangs out of her face as he gave her a kiss on the forehead. His bear scratched her face, giving her a sense of nostalgia from when she was a kid. 

“Did you not expect me to make it?” Byleth asked.

“It’s...it was complicated,” Jeralt replied. “I was not sure, but I had a feeling. My best guess is that some demons sensed that you were in a terribly weakened state. And they were so desperate for a body that they dragged you into their domain.”

“That’s scary,” Byleth acknowledged. 

“You know, your situation reminded me a lot of what I had to go through in the Circle,” Jerlat with a bittersweet tone.

That caught Byleth’s attention, “It did?”

“Yeah. Did I never tell you? All Circle apprentices have to go through The Harrowing. It was this final test to see if you...if you deserved to be trusted with your magic,” Jeralt looked downcast, recalling the memory.

Byleth could collect the pieces together in an instant, “You don’t mean...”

“I do,” Jeralt let out a long sigh, “The Harrowing is kept a secret, so no apprentice knows what they have to go through, so no doubt you are _ scared_. You are escorted into a room full of templars, which doesn’t help the nerves at all. You then have to go into the Fade in front of them, making you think this would just be a simple test of your powers. 

“The First Enchanter would then purposefully summon demons to your location in the Fade, and then you just survive. If you defeat them, you prove to be able to resist possession, and you continue to live your life under The Chantry. You become an abomination and they kill you. You refuse and you become a tranquil.”

Byleth didn’t know what to say to that. Not only did you have to live with magic, but you had to prove you were strong enough to keep your powers? And yet you had to be weak enough to be kept under control? 

“Well it was a good thing I was the best teacher you could ever ask for, huh?” Jeralt asked rhetorically through a strained smile.

“You really did prepare me for the world,” Byleth nodded. “I’m much stronger than most Circle mages, if I recall correctly.”

“Speaking of which,” Jeralt pinched her hard on the cheek.

“Ow?” Byleth said, rubbing the sore skin.

“What were you thinking? Carelessly using so much magic like that? The kid you brought along kept trying to come see you since he thought it was _ his _ fault,” Jeralt scolded her.

“Wait, Ashe thought-?” Byleth ran out air momentarily. The terror he must have felt when she was out, “No...Ashe...that poor boy. I need to apologize to him.”

Jeralt nodded, “When you’re well enough you need to have a talk with him. From what I could hear him blabber about through his snot and tears, you used Thedas magic in front of him.”

“I can explain-”

Jeralt raised his hand up, “No matter. You are an adult so I have to trust your judgment. But you are also my daughter so I can still lecture you about the dangers of being reckless.”

“I just got so _ angry_,” Byleth admitted. “So angry that someone can do that to people that care about them, to people that love them. I lost control. But I promise, I won’t do it again.”

“There was a reason to Lonato’s madness. It does not excuse his actions, but it does explain them. I believe it would be best if you had Catherine catch you up on the situation, she was there when you guys found the note.”

“What note?” 

“You don’t remember? The plans to assassinate Rhea.”

Oh, she remembered. “I’m going back to bed, papa,” Byleth said.

* * *

“Hey, kid,” Jeralt called out to his daughter.

“Yes, papa?” Byleth replied. It had been several days since she recovered from her _harrowing _ experience with the Fade, and she had a lot of catching up to do on her coursework. She had just came back from the library with a few items. Her class had burned through the lessons she had planned faster than she had expected, so she needed to get new material as quickly as possible. 

“I need you to get these set of books from the library for me,” Jeralt told her, handing a small parchment.

Byleth quirked an eyebrow, holding up the stack of books in emphasis, “Why don’t you do it?”

Jeralt scratched the back of his neck, “I’d rather not. I always feel...I don’t know how to describe it. I feel uncomfortable in there. My blood starts to tingle, making me nervous and Tomas can sense that or something. He just...he just looms behind me when I am in there? No matter where I turn, he’s just _ there_.” 

“That’s creepy,” Byleth said as she took the list of books and unloaded her tomes to her father. 

“To your room?” He asked almost wordlessly. Byleth nodded.

“Your blood starts tingling? That can’t be good. You’re not allergic to libraries, are you?”

“No, it’s the same with Jeritza, too,” Jeralt frowned.

“How do you mean?” 

“It’s like, I know where they are when they’re nearby.” Jeralt shuddered. “It’s unnerving.”

Byleth quirked an eyebrow, “What, like darkspawn?”

“Now that’s a notion,” Jeralt said. “No, not like darkspawn. This is not the same. It feels familiar, but at the same time there’s just a nugget of _ difference _.”

“Are you sure Jeritza isn’t a darkspawn? He can pass for a darkspawn. He’s creepy like one.”

“I will tell you if one of the staff is a darkspawn,” Jeralt said. “But I am serious here, there’s something off about those two.”

“Don’t you have an errand to do for me, papa?”

“I can say the same about you, kid.”

“_Touché _,” Byleth said. 

Jeralt looked at her, exasperated “Please don’t speak in Orlesian.”

“I know like five words in Orlesian.”

“Well, don’t say any of them.”

“Oh, so I’ll just start talking in Qunlat, yeah?”

“You are incorrigible.”

* * *

“So, that is a new sword,” Jeralt told his daughter. The glowing orange sword she had in her grasp had an interesting aesthetic. It also felt _ alive _, somehow. 

“It definitely is,” Byleth said. “What are you doing down here?”

“I felt it,” Jeralt explained. “Or at least, I felt him. I felt Jeritza.”

“What? Jeritza wasn’t down here,” Byleth said.

Jeralt looked surprised at that, “A-are you sure? I definitely felt him down here.”

“I assure you, only those bishops and this giant scary knight was there,” Byleth nodded. 

“If,” Jeralt said, eyes now full of doubt. “If you say so.”

“Do you need to rest, papa?”

“No...I don’t,” Jeralt said, “I’ll just...head back upstairs to clear my head.”

Jeralt avoided Jeritza much more after that. 

* * *

"So he_ was _ the Death Knight,” Byleth muttered, having just ran the Death Knight away for the second time. This time, another person appeared to talk him down from doing more harm to her students. They were short in stature, but their build was ambiguous because of their armor. Byleth really needed to apologize to her father right after this. He was right and she doubted him like a _ fool_.

Ah, speak of him and he shall appear. Jeralt practically ran into the chamber in a panic. He rushed over to Byleth, who barely had enough time to re-sheath her sword before pulling her into an embrace. 

“You’re alive,” Jeralt whispered. Byleth wrestled out of his hold. She was in front of her _ students_.

“You are _really _ underestimating how strong Lysithea is against that guy.” 

Flayn and another girl was promptly taken out of their makeshift holding cell. She hoped that they were asleep for most of their time down here, if I only to ease the trauma of being held captive. Byleth noticed Jeralt’s eyes to linger on the redheaded girl.

“Jeritza...” Jeralt shook his head. “I can’t believe I let this slip past my radar like that. All I cared about was deliberately avoiding him. I could have prevented this.”

“Papa, you couldn’t have known that he was going to kidnap Flayn. If anything, I should have believed you when you voiced your worries. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. It was my fault.”

Jeralt sighed in frustration. “But I should have listened to my gut instinct. I should have argued more. I should have investigated him” Jeralt clicked his tongue. “When I felt Jeritza fighting you, I realized why it was so familiar now.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say fighting me...I just gave him some debuffs while Lysithea scared him off with her spikes.”

“Regardless, when he fought to kill, I felt that same power as I did five years ago. Byleth, I don’t know how this is possible. But Jeritza...he is a Grey Warden.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (You know, Desire Demon. The only reason why she killed you with a chair was because it bothered you so much.)
> 
> Also the original plot! Is finally!! Happening!!!


	7. “Darkspawn? In My Fódlan?” It’s More Likely Than You Think.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected players appear at the mock battle. A moment of respite is ruined.

“Professor, is there something wrong?” Edelgard asked as Byleth stared at Monica.

“Nothing is wrong,” Byleth shrugged. “Just checking in on Monica.”

“Well I’m doing just fine so could you please leave us alone if you don’t mind?” Monica huffed, “You’re freaking me out.”

_ Ah, she’s rude_, Byleth thought. She said goodbye to Edelgard before she walked out of the tournament grounds. Jeralt had voiced his concerns, telling her that Monica felt similar to that of Jeritza and Tomas. Whatever he felt in them, it was as if they weren’t as savvy to feel his presence as he did theirs. Tomas seems to have drifted towards him without knowing the reason why, as if no one properly trained them in the usage of their powers. 

So Jeralt was gone under the guise of an emergency issue with their company to go darkspawn hunting. You can’t have Grey Wardens without darkspawn, after all. And with darkspawn, there was always a chance of an Archdemon. And with an Archdemon...you get the rest. Jeralt had managed to talk Byleth down in only bringing along a select few of their mercenaries.

There was a lingering question in the air that Byleth was too scared to ask. What if another Blight happened? Or in this case, Fódlan’s very _ first _ Blight? If you had asked for Byleth’s opinion on the situation, Fódlan’s Grey Wardens were not only _ under _ qualified to deal with the darkspawn swarms (Tomas, an old librarian. Monica, a bratty child), or they had no interest to preserve humanity and enjoyed kidnapping people (Jeritza, _ that _ guy). And that was what worried her. If the Blight happened....Is Jeralt going to run away?

If he was the only capable Grey Warden...he’d be the only one who could...and then he’d...

“Now, teach. This isn’t exactly a comforting face to be greeted with before a tournament,” Claude said.

“Oh, hmm?” Byleth was broken out of her train of thought by his voice. Just in time too, since otherwise she’d probably freak out if she thought about it for too long. “Oh, hello Claude. Sorry, something on my mind. You go break a leg out there.”

“With how much you’ve been forcing us to grind, I better win.” Claude laughed.

“I don’t force you,” Byleth said. “You can just not go and get points deduced.”

“Hey, I go and still get points deduced,” Hilda exclaimed. 

“That’s because you then pretend to get sick and leave,” Byleth said. “You fool Raphael into thinking you’re really ill and he uses those puppy eyes of his on me.”

“I’m losing to Raphael in the charm department?” Hilda asked, her voice high in bewilderment. “_Raphael? _”

“She just knows real charm from when you have ulterior motives,” Claude told his friend. 

“What?” Hilda looked over to Byleth, “But you always let me go when I saw I’m busy in the hallways.”

“Ah, I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Byleth said. “Besides, you do things by yourself when things get out of hand. Particularly the people you con into doing things for you ends up making the situation worse, essentially creating a bigger mess than what you started with. And then you end up cleaning up the mess _ they _cause. I’m honestly surprised you keep falling for your own self imposed trap.”

“...Professor, do you hate me?” Hilda complained.

“No? You’re one of my favorite students.”

Claude laughed at that, “Teach, _ everyone’s _your favorite.”

Byleth blinked. “I don’t see how that detracts from what I’m saying.”

* * *

“Claude come on, these disguises are ridiculous. This is a mock battle, not a costume party,” Dimitri berated Claude. 

“What did I do?” Claude exclaimed from across the field. 

“Who else can-” Dimitri turned over to Claude and the rest of the Golden Deer, who was very much dressed in their normal school attire. 

“Dimitri, duck!” Byleth called out to him, swinging her sword at the newcomer. Her sword extended like a whip, decapitating them in one strike. Dark black blood splattered against the clear sky, frightening the students closest to the visceral display. 

“I am calling off the mock battle,” Byleth shouted. “I need everyone that have open wounds to retreat and those that can still fight to group with me. Female students, especially those with crests, stay on high alert.”

“Professor, what is going on?” Flayn asked. 

“Flayn, I need you to heal as many people as you can before retreating. Find Seteth and stay near him.” If Flayn was captured...Well, Seteth would have Byleth’s head. But if she was captured and became a broodmother...who knows how powerful they would become. She also really didn’t want to see what saint broodmothers would create. 

“But professor, I can still fight,” Flayn argued. 

“That is an order, Flayn,” Byleth turned her attention back to her other students. “These creatures are not human. Most of them do not possess sapience, but they are not to be underestimated. They will have no mercy and they _ will _ kill. Do not get any of their fluids near your orifices or wounds. If anybody, no matter who you are, receive an open wound while engaging with the enemy will remove themselves from the fight _ immediately_.”

“Byleth!” Jeralt came jogging down from the hillside as fast as he could. 

“Papa!” Byleth could only give her father a second of a glance before an arrow missed her head by a hair. “Everyone, they’re attacking! Do not let anyone be captured.”

Sure enough, a group of what looked like to be pale humanoid creatures emerged from the shadows, black ichor oozing from their facial orifices. _ Hurlocks,_ Byleth identified them immediately. 

“Byleth,” Jeralt had finally caught up to the fight. Dimitri, who was the closest student to the first wave, sliced at the first one coming towards him. Dedue rushed by his side immediately, bashing the hurlock away from Dimitri with his shield. 

“Everyone, stay in groups. Don’t let them overwhelm you,” Byleth continued to order. “Papa, how many are we dealing with?”

Jeralt gave everyone an arcane shield. The students, never having had one cast on them before, did not even notice. “There’s not many in comparison to our numbers. Around a hundred, give or take. Most are grunts. A few alphas and emissaries. As long as everyone takes out two or three, we should push them back.”

“_Emissaries? _What are they even doing out here?” Byleth vented her frustration on an incoming hurlock with a stab in its stomach. “It is broad daylight. How are they so fast?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Jeralt clicked his tongue. “Maybe their broodmother is resilient to sunlight, somehow.”

“Just want we needed, a daywalking subspecies of darkspawn.”

“Well, we can deal with the logistics of this situation later, for now, we need to keep them off your students.”

“Right,” Byleth nodded, running off to slice the back of a pair of legs belonging to a hurlock that was harassing Annette. As it was reeling from having its knees compromised, Annette swung her hammer at its head, smashing its skull in. 

“Professor, what are these things?” Annette breathed, black ichor splattered across her face. Byleth took out a cloth to wipe the blood off her face. 

“They’re called darkspawn. I can explain later but for now we just need to make sure everyone makes it out of this alive. Avoid swallowing the black stuff, if you please. Unless you want to turn into them.” Not quite, they’d become a ghoul. But that’s just being specific. 

“E-eep!” The shriek of a female student alerted Byleth to her presence. It was Bernadetta, a hurlock had gotten hold of her hair was and dragging her back into the forest. 

“Bernie!” Dorothea flung a saggitae spell at the kidnapping grunt. Three spectral arrows landed squarely on its back, making it turn to Dorothea’s direction. The songstress, obviously disturbed, held her head high, eyes with determination, “Let her go.”

The hurlock roared at Dorothea, about to chuck Bernadetta to the side to attack its new quarry, only to find its hand to only have a fistful of purple hair. “Stay away from her!” Bernadetta screamed as she launched herself on the back of the hurlock, stabbing an arrow into an eye socket and a dagger into its neck. The hurlock grunt screamed as it ripped Bernadetta from its back to toss her aside. While airborne, Bernadetta knocked an arrow from her bow, shooting it again in the neck. She didn’t land as gracefully, landing painfully after her attack. 

“Bernie,” Dorothea scrambled to Bernadetta, attempting to heal her immediately. The hurlock could still hear sound, and was about to charge at the girls when the Sword of Creation wrapped itself around the grunt and bashed it against a tree. Standing before them was Byleth, looking somewhat bored.

“Bernadetta, are you hurt?” Byleth turned around to assess the situation. 

“Y-yes, I’m fine,” Bernadetta sat up, only to cringe and grab at her shoulder. “Owie...”

“I think you have dislocated your shoulder. Dorothea, please escort Bernadetta to the hillside.”

“Of course, professor,” Dorothea nodded, actually _ lifting _ Bernadetta in a princess carry and retreated from battle. Was Dorothea always that strong? How much muscle was she hiding underneath that uniform. _ Was the hat her source of power _.

“Byleth, what the blazes is going on?” Catherine’s voice shouted, loud enough to be heard above the chaos. She was slicing through the hurlock crowd like a hot knife through butter. Shamir was right on her heels, taking care of any that strayed from the warrior’s sword.

“I _really_ don’t have the time to explain the situation, right now. I will explain _everything_. Just not _now_,” Byleth sighed. Suddenly, the air around them became heavier, forcing them lower to the ground. Half of the field followed suit, hunching over as if their weapons just increased in weight. It was hard to breath, almost painful to even talk. _A Crushing Prison_, Byleth thought. 

“What is...going on,” Catherine said through clenched teeth. They were slowly getting surrounded, forcing everyone to face back to back defensively. Byleth’s eyes scanned the field as quickly as she could. 

“There!” both Byleth and Shamir said at the same time. The two of them were looking at a group of three robed figures. Emissaries. 

With a screech from above, a wyvern swoops in to grab an emissary completely unawares. A third of the affected group snapped awake from their prison, barely able to comprehend what had just happened. Soon, the captured emissary was released from its hold at a devastating height, leaving an ugly stain on the field. Seteth swooped down again, allowing Caspar and Linhardt to mount his wyvern. Byleth saw a flash of red on Caspar, causing a pain of guilt to spark inside of Byleth. _ Linhardt’s with him _ , she told herself. _ He will take care of Caspar_. The remaining two emissaries hissed as they retreated into the woods. 

Catherine was about to pursue them but was stopped by Byleth, “Don’t chase after them. There might be reinforcements in the thickest part of the woods. They are stronger in the dark.”

“How do you _ know _ these things?” Catherine asked, clearly annoyed. Byleth, a second away from opening her mouth was cut off immediately. “I know, I know. You’ll explain it later.”

Thunderbrand sliced through another hurlock with ease, its blade now covered in the black ichor. Catherine sighed and commented under her breath, “It doesn’t make it any less frustrating, though.”

An alpha’s rallying roar distracted Byleth. It was just so much more intimidating in broad daylight, the hulking armor stood in the middle of the field menacingly. Byleth went to work immediately, rushing to it at once. The alpha swung its axe at Byleth, forcing Byleth to duck out of the way.

“Everyone, kill the heavily armored ones as fast as you can!” She shouted, earning the attention of a few of the nearby students. “They will retreat without a commander.”

“Right,” most of them answered, returning to the battle. Wordlessly, every house managed to corner in on their own hurlock alpha. Byleth returned to her own alpha, but was soon joined by Catherine and Shamir, followed by Jeralt. 

“Papa, you should help the students,” Byleth told him. “I got this.”

“They have the numbers,” Jeralt reassured her. “And you’re rusty.”

“Hey now,” Byleth muttered. “I am _ not _ rusty.”

“Well prove it, then.”

Byleth smirked, “With pleasure.” She swung her sword at the alpha, wrapping the blade around one of its arms. It screeched as she dragged it closer to her, kicking it in the face when it got close enough. The alpha was knocked into the ground, letting out another cry. A group of grunts honed in on her, only for one to be impaled by an arrow through the back of its head. The injured grunt swerved to attack the one that got him. 

Shamir, caught off guard that it was still barreling towards her after her shot should have taken it down _ fatally _, jumped back before it could even swipe at her. Catherine stood her ground between them to intercept the grunt, pushing it back. The others did not care for it, only focusing on Byleth. Byleth grasped them in her winter hold, effectively freezing them in place. Jeralt did quick work of them, slicing their necks to decapitate the iced sculptures.

“What did I say about Thedas magic?” Jeralt said through gritted teeth.

“Fuck, papa. What was I supposed to do, let them hit me in the back?” Byleth whined. 

“No, but you should pay attention that friend of yours,” Jeralt pointed at the alpha.

Before Byleth can reply, the alpha tugged on the arm Byleth captured violently, ripping her toward the ground. She landed on top of the alpha, allowing it to flip her onto her back. The hurlock alpha screamed into her face as it straddled her in place, holding its axe high into the air. 

Byleth took her dagger from its sheath to stab it into a joint of its armor, conducting a current of electricity that cooked it inside of its own metal prison. The axe was let go, almost cutting into Byleth’s face. It landed blade down, missing her ear by an inch. _Ah, that was really close _. 

“Get off of her!” Jeralt screamed as he pulled the alpha off of Byleth by its horned helmet. He threw it on the ground like a sack of flour, glaring at it before steam started to come out of every orifice. It screamed and screamed, but the hissing of the steam only got louder and louder. Like a fish jumping out of the water, the black ichor bursted out its eyes and mouth, oozing from its helmet. 

“_Papa, what did I say about Thedas magic _,” Byleth mocked as she got up. 

Jeralt cleared his throat awkwardly, “I mean, blood magic isn’t really welcomed in Thedas, so...”

“I can’t win with you,” Byleth sighed. 

* * *

The entire school was in the grand entrance hall, the only room on campus to fit the entire school and monastery population without having someone step on another’s foot.

“Everyone, settle down,” Jeralt commanded, switching to leader mode. “Now, I am sure everybody is aware of why we are here today. And in case anybody is out of the loop, I will start from the beginning.

“Today, at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion mock battle, the students on Gronder Field were attacked by pale creatures. Yes, I said _ creatures _. Although they look like humans, they are very much everything but. These creatures are called darkspawn, and they serve no one but themselves.”

“Where did they come from?” A student in the crowd asked.

“We do not know. From what I know, they have been here since the beginning,” Jeralt told the student. This caused a mummer to ripple through the crowd. Seteth and Rhea gave each other a look. “They live beneath the earth, as the sun is supposed to be a great weakness of theirs.”

This tidbit caused Edelgard to react ever so slightly. If you weren’t looking at her however, you would have missed it completely. Monica in turn was breathing heavily.

“But that was not the case, as you may recall,” Byleth said. “As they were very much active during our fight with them on the field. This has led my father and I to believe that they have found a powerful broodmother. Or specifically, one with a crest that has amplified their fighting prowess.”

“One thing at a time, Byleth,” Jeralt said. It was too late, more panicked confusion was spread through the crowd. “Quiet down, you lot. Quiet down.”

“We’re telling them everything, yes?” Byleth asked. 

Jeralt sighed, “Yes, but look at their reactions. You’re really freaking them out.” 

“Are you saying that people are siding with these creatures?” Syvain asked, disgust clearly on his face. 

Byleth shook her head, “No, not of their own will. Humans that have been infected with the darkspawn blood can acquire what we refer to as the ‘taint’ and will most likely die. Those that can survive are ghouls, cannibalistic creatures who actively seek out those that have turned them. This is the corruption that they can contract—they are no longer human and are under the control of the darkspawn. They’ll essentially be drawn to them like moths to a flame. If these ghouls are craftsmen, the darkspawn will use them as such, using them to make the creatures armor and weapons until they die. If the ghouls are female, it is most likely they will be turned into broodmothers to birth more darkspawn. _ That _ is how they reproduce.”

Bernadetta was practically shaking like a leaf. Dorothea comforted her, allowing the smaller girl to curl up next to her. 

“So that is why you told us to be careful,” Ingrid said. “But that doesn’t explain why they are doing this.”

Byleth looked at her and asked, “If you were a creature that can only live in the dark, what would your desire be?”

“To make the world just as dark,” Edelgard replied.

“But you said they lacked sapience,” Claude said. “How can they desire such complex thoughts? To congregate like that, like an actual army, is something no creatures with instincts like animals can achieve.”

Byleth shook her head, “I said most of them do. There are a few that have nearing human intelligence. Those that can perform magic for example, can even speak. The strong have that desire, and the weak follow them like pack animals.”

“But why attack a field of armed students?” Dimitri asked, his demeanor slightly different. Did he seem more agitated?

“If I were to hazard a guess,” Jeralt said, shifting his weight uncomfortably, “they were either testing out the new subspecies that can operate in broad daylight-”

“Or to obtain more resources,” Byleth finished his sentence. 

“...It was just unlucky for them to encounter those with experience in their species,” Jeralt continued. “Obviously, they were relying on the element of surprise to take us all out. We were able to keep casualties to a minimum, only having those without injuries to keep fighting.”

“Because let us all be honest for a second here, how many of you would have kept fighting even if you drew blood?” Byleth asked her students. An uncomfortable silence surrounded the crowd as they looked at each other. “Any other questions?”

“How do we stop them?” Seteth stepped forward.

“Well, we need to find where they hide, first,” Jeralt told them. “And that is impossible.”

“But we can still _ try_,” Catherine stood up from her seat. “Lady Rhea, I would like to ask for your permission to allow the Knights of Seiros to search for their hideout.”

“Now hold on, that is _ very _dangerous,” Jeralt warned her. “You are going to die in this reckless goose chase of yours.”

“Well then, what do you suggest?” Shamir asked.

“We can...we can patrol,” Jeralt said. “But we are in under any circumstances, to venture off into dense foliage. That goes for civilians as well. We need to warn people to stay away from dark areas, including mines.”

“But that will affect so many individual’s livelihoods,” Lorenz countered. 

“It will only be for a little while. We need to know where they will attack next, or if this is an isolated incident,” Byleth told him. “We cannot risk the infection to spread.”

The students nodded, but she was sure they were all scared to the bone. It was concluded that most of the knights were to patrol the area around Gronder Field in case of more darkspawn activity. 

“Maybe we should create more Grey Wardens,” Byleth told her father in secret as the hall became more empty. “It would certainly help with the fight.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Jeralt said. “More people die in The Joining process than you would think. We really can’t afford to lose any soldiers at a time like this.”

“_What? _ ” Byleth hissed. “It’s _ random _?”

Jeralt realized what he just brought upon himself, “Uhhh...” 

“You could have _ died _ ? And you’re telling me this _ now? _ You’re telling me this now, that five years ago, I could have been orphaned as a teenage apostate in _ Denerim _?” Byleth berated him. She was freaking out. Everything could have been different five years ago. “Papa!”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Jeralt shrugged. 

* * *

Join the Heron Cup, they said. It'd take your mind off the darkspawn, they said. But how did it come to this? Rhea decided to push the dance contest up to distract the children from the darkspawn, a good move that only put Byleth on edge. Not because of the idea of danger looming over them constantly, ready to strike at any moment, but what happened directly after the results of the competition was declared. The White Heron cup had just concluded (her house won, by the way) so everyone was just in that _ mood _ of asking who Byleth was going to dance with on the ball.

“I don’t have anyone in mind,” Byleth said, trying to sneak out of the room. It was quite impossible, because she was at the center of attention. Byleth looked over to Shamir, who was already leaving the hallway. Alois shrugged helplessly, powerless in such a situation.

“My, aren’t we popular, professor?” Manuela cooed ever so teasingly.

“Please, help.” Byleth said under her breath, hoping Manuela could take a hint.

“Let us make this a competition!” Manuela chirped. Byleth’s eyes widened, abort abort _ abort. _

“Oh? What form of contest would this be?” Edelgard asked with high interest. _ Oh, not you too, Edelgard _.

“How about....” Manuela paused to ponder. Or was she doing it on purpose to increase tension? “A version of capture the flag, so to speak? First one to get the professor’s headband gets first dance at the ball. Of course, she is not allowed to leave campus.”

_ Hahaha, please end me _, Byleth thought as her hand shot up to touch at her headband. She had started to recently wear one to keep her hair out of her eyes. She didn’t think it was a big deal but apparently everyone else thought it was. It was because it was pink, wasn’t it?

“Of course, the professor gets a minute head start,” Manuela nodded. “Well, professor? You should get going least you want to be captured within a minute.”

_ When did I consent to this? _ Byleth was about to tell Manuela, but as she looked on at the faces of her students, the words died at her throat. They looked _ excited _ and quite honestly downright adorable.

How could she say no to that? “The chase lasts until sunset.”

“Confident, aren’t we, teach?” Claude said.

“I have a plan,” Byleth simply told them. She turned to leave before stopping for a brief second. “And no, I’m not going to lock myself in my room. That would be cheating.” And she was off.

“I, too, have a plan,” Claude told Hilda. 

“Please do not set a trap that could potentially hurt the professor,” Dimitri offhandedly commented.

“You,” Claude pointed at the prince, “Are rude. And no, my plan is to divide and conquer. If we spread out and _ not _ chase her like a flock of geese, one of us is bound to catch her unawares.”

“That actually sounds like a well constructed plan,” Edelgard added. 

“And I’ll take that backhanded compliment,” Claude said. Everyone started to section off the school in areas they were in charge of patrolling. Eventually, the students trickled into their own houses, making their own strategies. Oh, this would not do. Claude had _ another _ plan, which needed the help of someone else. He walked over to where the Black Eagles were congregating to tap her on the shoulder. “Hey, Petra. I need your help.”

“Would you like to share with the rest of us what that plan is?” Edelgard asked him, narrowing her eyes. He couldn’t blame her. Petra was like the _ most _ athletic person in her house. She was most likely the fastest too, if you didn’t count a scared Bernadetta. Which was always. The girl is always scared. That’s the joke. 

“No, I would not,” Claude dismissed Edelgard’s suggestion. “Well, Petra? Would you mind helping me with my other, secret, _ better _ plan?”

Petra looked at Edelgard with worry, who waved at her dismissively. “There is no rule against you two joining forces.”

“But there will be consequences of you leaving Lady Edelgard’s aid,” Hubert said. 

Edelgard looked like she was going to throttle him to death despite their height difference, “No, there isn’t. Hubert, you need to stop threatening our allies.”

“But Lady Edelgard-”

Claude did not hear the rest of their conversation as he retreated with Petra in tow, diverging his plan in a low voice that only she could hear. Whatever the plan was, her eyes lit up in understanding, and she nodded with eagerness.

“Start!” Manuela said, raising her hand up to start the game of chase. Everyone that was participating scrambled out of the hallway, leaving only a few behind. Oddly enough, Claude and Petra were of the ones that remained behind. They both gave each other a nod before running out of the grand hall. Soon, it was only Dorothea and Manuela left in the room.

“Manuela, did you have to make this such a spectacle?”

“But Dorothea, this is way more fun, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re not _ jealous _, are you?”

Manuela flinched, “Why would you say that?”

“Because half the school was asking the professor to dance with them. Nobody asked you.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer, my dear Dorothea.”

“I’ll dance with you at the ball,” Dorothea told her mentor.

“Oh, you’re such a sweetheart,” Manuela whispered, tiny tears in her eyes as she hugged her fellow songstress. 

Byleth was either inhumanly fast, or her students were really slow. The students could not land a single hit on her as she ducked and weaved out of their grasps. It wasn’t until long until she tired out practically the entire student body. 

With several hours until sunset, Byleth decided to find a place to hide. The greenhouse was too obvious, and she didn’t want to ruin the plants inside in case they got a bit rowdy. In a secluded area of the academy, Byleth decided to take her chances hiding in a tree. As she slithered her way up, the reality of the situation dawned on her as a couple of minutes passed in relative silence.

What if she was stuck up here until nightfall? She could do it, of course, but she had other things to do today. Like fishing. Or gardening. Or both.

_ Fuck me sideways, _Byleth thought. 

_ ‘...Fuck?’ _Sothis asked her. 

_ Ah, sorry Sothis. I don’t normally cuss—but this situation is so out of my element that I am so uncomfortable that I gotta say it, you know? _

_ ‘I am not familiar with this, as you say, explicative. Pray tell, what does it mean?’ _

That question threw Byleth for one heck of a loop_ ...The fuck? _Was all she could think in reply.

_ ‘Using it in another context is not something I will follow if I do not know its meaning in the first place.’ _

“Hey, teach!” the Golden Deer house leader appeared suddenly, hanging from the branch above. He tagged her nose with a grin on his face. “Guess your first dance is with me.”

“Ah,” Byleth flinched at the sudden interruption of her sudden crises. “You have yet to get my headband.”

“And yet you’re not running,” Claude pointed out. 

“Hmm,” Byleth hummed, “Maybe I have come to the conclusion that perhaps you wouldn’t be so bad of a choice as a dance partner.”

“What is with everyone today?” Claude said, exasperated. “I have feelings, too. Speaking of feeling, I think I’m starting to lose some of it in my legs.” 

“Claude, when did you get up here?” 

“Like, when the game started.”

“So from the beginning, you climbed this tree and waited for hours, in the hope that I would _ perhaps _ hide in it,” Byleth stated. It wasn’t a question. 

“There was no way any of us were going to catch you on foot, so I assume you would eventually seek a place to hide out once you tired us out. I calculated that there was a large chance you’d be here. Actually, I narrowed it down to these two trees in this area. Petra is in the other tree over there,” Claude said, pointing towards the hidden Black Eagle. “Hey, Petra! I got the professor!”

A head of vibrant hair popped up from the branches, “It would seem you have the winning of the bet, Claude! Although I am upset, I must congratulate you.”

“Ah, did you teach him how to climb, Petra?” Byleth asked. 

Claude looked at Byleth with slight hurt in his eyes, “Hey now, you saying I can’t climb, teach?” 

“No, I just saw you climbing in the forest on occasion,” Byleth admitted. “Very badly and with the help of rope and arrows. I don’t see any here, so I can only assume you got better.”

“But isn’t the professor correct of telling the truth?” Petra asked as she climbed down from her perch. “You have told me you cannot do the climbing of trees because your home did not have tall ones.”

“I am the winner here, and yet I feel like I have lost something very important,” Claude said with an airy voice. His pride? His dignity? Oh, the humanity.

“It’s the blood rushing to your head. Get down before you pass out,” Byleth ordered. Claude did his two finger salute before climbing safely (as much as Claude can be safe) onto the branch Byleth was resting on. Petra had already climbed the tree and was positioned in a branch below them but could still maintain eye level. That was mighty impressive, considering she was wearing a pencil skirt. 

“Hey Claude, kind of a weird question, but if I said the work ‘fuck’ to you, would it have any meaning?” Byleth asked. Could this get her fired? One way to find out. 

Claude instead cocked his head to the side, looking at her inquisitively, “I can’t say that I do, why do you ask?”

Byleth, slightly panicking now, “Petra?”

“Is this a word that is existing in Fódlan? I am still learning your language, but I do not recall coming across that word.”

“Ah,” Byleth said. Usually cuss words are the ones you come across _ first _ when starting to learn another language. Why? Because it’s _ fun _. “Excuse me.”

“Forgetting something, teach?” Claude winked at Byleth. Was it appropriate for a student to wink at his professor? Especially as frequently as Claude does? Byleth didn’t know, she didn’t go to school. 

“Ah,” Byleth took off her headband, “Here, see you at the dance, Claude.”

“Yes...” Claude silently cheered as he retrieved his boon. Byleth was already descending the tree in a blink of an eye. He put the headpiece on himself, “So Petra, how do I look?”

She giggled at his mannerisms, “Like a victor.”

Byleth ran full speed to her father’s office. On the way, she missed a few disappointed students who noticed her headband was missing. 

“Aw, darn. It looks like the professor’s first dance was taken,” Sylvain lamented. 

“It would appear so,” Mercedes commented. “How unfortunate. But no matter, I wouldn’t mind being her second dance of the night!”

Sylvain gave her a glance, not realizing_ she _was a rival, “Not unless I ask her first.”

“Oh please,” Felix said, “She wouldn’t dance with you even if you were the last guy in the room.”

“You would be right, Felix. For she will then be dancing with the ladies,” Mercedes laughed. 

“You guys wound me,” Sylvain said. “And you, Mercedes. I thought you were a healer, not a heavy hitter.”

“Maybe that’s just what I _ want _you to think,” she mused before heading to the kitchens. 

“Felix,” Sylvain whispered while gripping Felix’s shoulder. “Felix, what does she mean by that?”

“Please unhand me,” Felix said.

That would have been the conversation Byleth heard if she had listened in on the three of them. But Byleth did not hear it, for she was too busy running three steps at a time up to her father’s office. 

“Papa,” she said, almost out of breath. “Papa, do they not use the word ‘_ fuck’ _ here?”

“Okay, this was not a conversation I was expecting to be involved in. Ever,” Jeralt said, closing the book he was reading. “How did you come to this...erm, conclusion?”

“I asked Claude if he knew what _ fuck _ meant and he said no,” Byleth replied. 

“Well there you have it,” Jeralt said. “In fact, a lot of the more colorful expletives from Thedas are not present here.”

Byleth’s eyebrows slightly furrowed, “That’s weird. I don’t like it, that’s_ weird _.”

Jeralt lightly chuckled, “Well, you shouldn’t expect to hear them here anyways, it’s both a school and monastery, after all.”

“They’re _ teenagers _, papa! Teenagers cuss the most in the world!”

“Well, they cannot really cuss if curse words don't exist. Aside from the mild ones, of course. Like crap.”

“_ What the crap _ just doesn’t sound as nice. Oh, for the love of the Maker. I once heard someone in our company unironically say ‘dastard’. Is that-“

“No, that was just him censoring himself around you.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Byleth breathed a sigh of relief. Being a lot calmer now, she can recall the word ‘bastard’ being used on multiple occasions. Huh. 

Jeralt frowned at the lingo, “You know you can’t say that. They’ll think you’re an infidel.”

“I don’t say it out _ loud _,” Byleth waved a hand at his worry. 

“Yeah, but the fact that you still say that after five years means it is still a habit. One day, you’re going to cuss Andraste’s name in front of someone and they’ll question it.”

“I’ll be careful papa,” Byleth sighed. A thought appeared in her mind, making her straighten her posture abruptly. “Oh, I have a few things I have to attend to. Please excuse me.”

“I swear, kid. If I hear a student say a single explicit word that they should have no knowledge of-”

“But it wouldn’t mean anything to them!”

“But it does to _ me _,” Jeralt pinched the bridge of his nose, “and I don’t I can handle a bunch of kids learning to curse for the first time.”

“I make no such promises,” Byleth hummed before retreating from Jeralt’s office. The man had no choice but to let his daughter go cause mayhem as he continued to read the contents of his book, having long lost interest since being interrupted. 

_ ‘So are you going to tell me what it means?’ _Sothis asked once they were at the stairs.

Later that week, when Jeralt returned from yet another patrol, he greeted the gatekeeper. Byleth once jokingly asked him to adopt the gatekeeper, to which he politely declined his daughter’s wishes. 

“Hello, Sir Jeralt! Nothing to report! You have no darkspawn activity to report either, I take it?”

“Nope,” Jeralt said, “The sky is just as bright and beautiful as it was yesterday, wouldn’t you say?”

“Fuck yeah, it is!” the gatekeeper said.

Jeralt almost choked on his spit. “Byleth...” he growled. 

* * *

That night, Byleth couldn’t sleep. She didn’t know why, but she kept tossing and turning in her bed until a knock on her door was heard. Good, a distraction. 

“Byleth, it’s me,” Jeralt called out. 

“Papa? What’s wrong?” Byleth asked her father once she opened the door. He looked paler than usual, his body covered in a layer of sweat that shone under the moon. “This is about the gatekeeper, isn’t it?”

“Byleth, they did it,” Jeralt told her. “They found an Archdemon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's silly to compare cussing in a T rated game to an M rated game, but humor me, will ya?


	8. Got a Secret, Can You Keep It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blight begins. Byleth changes her look.

“What I don’t get is why you didn’t tell us about this before,” Seteth said. 

“I didn’t think they would even find one,” Jeralt sighed. 

“What exactly is an Archdemon?” Rhea asked. It was strange seeing her out of her Archbishop clothes, but she couldn’t really wear everything holy and regal when Byleth roused her for an emergency meeting. 

“They’re powerful beings called the ‘Old Gods’,” Byleth said. “If the darkspawn finds one, they taint it with their blood. Then it becomes an Archdemon. The darkspawn horde then takes orders from it.”

“...The ‘Old Gods’?” Rhea asked.

“Ah, I don’t know what you call them,” Byleth lied, “They’re giant dragons.” 

Both Seteth and Rhea reacted at that. Seteth narrowed his eyes while Rhea flinched and looked at a loss for words. 

“They’re not dragons,” Jeralt said.

“They look like dragons,” Byleth said. “They’re _ huge _.”

“You two keep talking like you have experienced this before,” Seteth said. “Not only the darkspawn, but this whole...Archdemon thing. And it’s really disconcerting that you are not telling us everything.”

“It’s complicated,” Jeralt said.

“It’s because we don’t trust you,” Byleth said, pointing at Rhea. Jeralt grabbed her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. Rhea was taken aback by that statement, eyes widening. 

“How dare you-” Seteth seethed.

“You did something to me that made papa run away from you,” Byleth accused. 

“How did you-” Jeralt sputtered. A knowing look from Byleth answered his questions. Damn spirits, always blabbering secrets. 

“And believe me, I would love to explain everything to somebody so that _ someone _ in this damn world can understand what we went through, but I am _ tired _ of playing this game,” Byleth continued. “Papa had to uproot everything and leave for my safety. We come back only because you _ found us _ and you give me a job out of thin air, one where you can keep an eye on me. And then every time you look at me when we talk, you have this sweet smile that is so _ fake _. You keep asking me questions about the Goddess and my wellbeing, except in a roundabout way as if you actually cared about me, but in reality you’re just seeing if I am your dead mother.”

“Rhea...” Seteth breathed, “Is this true?”

“I-” the Archbishop looked from Byleth to Seteth rapidly, unsure of how this situation escalated so quickly. 

“I _ know _ you want something from me,” Byleth said. “I know that. I’ll give you my help with this whole darkspawn situation. _ But _you need to tell everyone here what you did to me, or I will leave. You should start with your brother.”

Rhea turned her attention to Seteth, who shook his head, eyes wide. Seteth only revealed to Byleth how Flayn and he was related, nothing about them. How did she find out about him and Rhea?

“Okay, now _ I’m _ the one confused,” Jeralt said. “Byleth, what are you saying?”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Byleth asked. After her Harrowing, Byleth had another dream about that battle. The battle at the Red Canyon, when it was known as Zanado. The resemblance of Seiros to Rhea was remarkable. As if she herself was- “You are Seiros. Which makes you...” she turned to Seteth, “Cichol. And little Flayn is Cethleann, isn’t she? Well, not really _ little _. Because she is a lot older than I am.”

They all stared at her.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, anyone that can do a little research will be able to piece everything together, eventually.”

“Linhardt helped you, didn’t he,” Jeralt whispered.

“I did most of it on my own,” Byleth whispered back. “Thank you very much. But yes, he did help.”

“Byleth,” Rhea sighed. 

“Do we have a _ deal _?” the professor shot back. 

“We do,” Seteth said. 

“Seteth?” Rhea asked, obviously hurt.

“If this has something to do with mother,” Seteth said, closing his eyes. “I want to hear it. But not right now. Byleth, please give us information about how to defeat the Archdemon. I swear, I will _ make _ my sister hold her end of the bargain.”

“I guess that will have to do for now,” Byleth nodded. “Now, although you might have guessed it, I think you know who this Archdemon they found would most likely be. Who do you personally know in your lives is an all-powerful dragon deity that isn’t present?”

“...It’s either Indech or Macuil, isn’t it?” Rhea replied, downcast.

“Yes,” Byleth said. “It is unfortunate, but they are the only ones I can think of to be powerful enough to even become an Archdemon.”

“How do you even know one has come to existence?” this time Seteth was the one to ask.

“I am what is known as a Grey Warden,” Jeralt replied. “Grey Wardens are warriors specifically created to combat the darkspawn, for we no longer can be tainted. We can sense them as much as they can sense us. And we can especially sense the Archdemon. Not to sound conceited, but you can’t win without one, either. Only a Grey Warden is able to slay an Archdemon, so without one you might as well surrender.”

“Yeah, at the cost of their life,” Byleth muttered bitterly, looking away.

“Byleth...” Jeralt gave his daughter a glance.

“And you are willing to do that? For us?” Rhea asked. “Even after what I did to you?”

Jeralt continued to look at his daughter, who refused to talk or even look at his direction. “What choice do I have?”

“You have plenty of other choices!” Byleth raised her voice. “You can recruit more Grey Wardens. Let some other gung-ho hero with a deathwish to take the final blow. We can find Morrigan, make her do that baby ritual to prevent a sacrifice.”

“Do you know where to find her?” Jeralt asked. Byleth flinched, knowing full well he was right. “Realistically, Byleth. How long do you think we have to find a single woman who is in _ hiding _ before the darkspawn take over? Six months? A year? Look at how long it took Rhea to find us. And the one other potential person to know that spell? We killed her.”

Byleth raised her hands in the air, “Because she was going to kill Morrigan!”

“Did you not say that we can simply recruit more Grey Wardens?” Seteth mediated the argument. 

Jeralt took a breath to calm down, “Yes, we can. But the process isn’t exactly a piece of cake. The Joining is a ritual that doesn’t even guarantee a success. You are more likely to lose candidates that gain a recruit.”

“The worst part is, only Grey Wardens know how to make more Grey Wardens. And he won’t tell me how it’s done!” Byleth said, exasperated. 

“Because I know the second I tell you, you’re going to try to do it on yourself,” he informed the group. 

“You know what we should do? We should ask Tomas,” Byleth said.

Jeralt glared at Byleth intensely, “Kid, don’t-”

“Tomas? The librarian?” Seteth asked.

Byleth pointed a thumb at her father, “Yeah, according to papa, he’s a Warden, too.”

“_Byleth _,” Jeralte hissed.

Rhea frowned, “Jeralt, that is very important information you have just withheld. It is quite impertinent for you to have done that.”

“Whatever you say, _ Seiros _,” Jeralt barked back. “Why are you even leader of a religion that worships yourself?”

“Back to the issue at hand,” Seteth, once again the mediator, “Would it not be wise to wait until working hours to question him? It would be rude to wake him now.”

“Yeah, he looks like he could get knocked over by a stiff wind and die,” Byleth said. “Who knows what someone pounding on his door at three in the morning will do to him.”

“I could have said that with a little more tact, but I do agree with the professor. We shall reconvene at a later time in the library. You two should get some rest,” Seteth dismissed the father and his daughter.

Rhea was all too eager to finish the conversation, “Yes, it would be most beneficial for us to retire-”

“_ We, _ dear sister, need to have a chat,” Seteth stopped Rhea from retreating to her room. 

“_ Drat, _” Rhea cursed under her breath.

* * *

The ball was cancelled. Just as well, though. Nobody wanted to celebrate a party when a Blight was happening. The sky dreary was well, as if it was grieving with them. Byleth corrected those with that notion that it was blight magic. The skies will forever be clouded like this, she told them. The further the taint spread, the more of the sky will be covered. It allowed the darkspawn to be stronger, which was troubling for Byleth. 

Darkspawns were supposed to be lethargic in the sunlight, yet the ones that appeared during the mock battle proved otherwise. They were already leagues stronger than the ones she faced back in Ferelden. How strong are they going to be under a darkened sky? 

Turns out, a lot stronger. Remire village was like Lothering all over again, except Remire village was crawling with ghouls, which actually started to _ eat other villagers _. 

Claude landed next to them after a quick reconnaissance mission, timely informing them the lay of the land, “Also, I have good news, I have bad news, and I have worse news.” His wyvern demanded scritches under her chin, and Claude obliged.

“Just tell us what you saw, Claude,” Jeralt told him.

“Well, the good news is that I found Tomas, who I heard you all were looking for this morning,” Claude said. 

“Oh no,” Byleth whispered, closing her eyes to process the information.

“Yeah, turns out he’s on their side. The darkspawn aren’t even attacking him. It’s like they are _ guarding _ him.”

“Evil Grey Wardens?” Byleth said, not at all surprised. She was disappointed, sure—but oddly enough, not surprised. After all, Jeritza was a kidnapper, “This country has everything!”

“Why do I keep doing this?” Jeralt groaned. This was another person that he ignored his intuition on. 

“Don’t worry, papa. It is not your fault that the Grey Wardens of Fódlan are darkspawn boot-lickers.”

“Also, the Death Knight is here,” Claude added.

“Oh, ho, ho! It looks like you’re the odd one here, papa,” Byleth chided. “Seems like every other Grey Warden is on the side of...” she lowered her voice into a low whisper, “...._evil._...” 

“Teach, you okay?”

“Oh, I’m just peachy,” Byleth said. “It’s just hard to turn off my sarcasm right now. Should I just kill Monica when I see her?”

Claude’s eyes widened. “Woah, you think she’s on their side, too?”

“To be on the safe side, I think we should be _ cautious _ around Monica,” Jeralt warned. “Kid, don’t just attack her without provocation.”

“Aye, captain,” Byleth saluted lazily. 

“Don’t call me that.”

Byleth pouted, “Oh, so Leonie can call you that but _ I _can’t?”

“Leonie isn’t my daughter,” Jeralt sighed, exasperated.

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Byleth tutted, “you’ll hurt her feelings.”

“Byleth, _ please_,” her father pleaded.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Byleth took a deep breath to turn off to focus on the task at hand. “Claude, you and your battalion fly to the other end of the village to evacuate civilians, but do _ not _ engage with Tomas’s units.”

Claude nodded,"You got it, teach.” His wyvern swerved into the sky gracefully as we went to meet with his soldiers. 

Byleth turned to the rest of her students, who were all eagerly awaiting instructions, “Mounted units, you will scatter and rescue the villagers closest to the entrance. After you are done, reconvene with us on the other end for an attack. The rest of us will push through and spread out into three prongs to cover as much ground as possible before funneling into one single force to overwhelm the enemy. Linhardt and Marianne, it should be obvious by now, but you two stay in the back for support. Just like during the mock battle, if you get an open wound, retreat. Any questions?”

“What about the Death Knight?” Lysithea asked, raising her hand.

“Do not engage unless he comes to you first,” Byleth instructed her. Lysithea visibly deflated at the order. “There is no need to split off and target an unprovoked enemy when it weakens our numbers. Do you understand?”

Lysithea begrudgingly nodded, “Yes, professor.” 

“And that goes for all of you, too. Do not run off trying to play the hero, this is not a game,” she stared particularly long at Felix and Lorenz. “The darkspawn are stronger now, and we do not want to increase the chance of a casualty.”

“Of course, professor,” Lorenz said, his head dipping into a small bow.

Felix clicked his tongue, “Whatever.” 

Satisfied with their answers, Byleth gave the orders for everyone to begin their missions. The burning buildings weren’t so bad of obstacles, they soon realized. It was the smoke in the air that made it difficult. It made their eyes sting and their lungs burn. Gale magic did not help much, as it only managed to kick up the embers to irritate everyone even more. The worst part was that the hurlocks weren’t even bothered at the smoke and cinders. 

One of the wyvern battalion soldiers had just dropped off a civilian at the entrance, engaging themselves in a battle with a hurlock grunt right away. Unfortunately for them, a bolter struck their wyvern down, causing the soldier to fall off their mount. Linhardt caught them with a wind spell, knocking them off course a split second before they plummeted into the ground. 

This left Linhardt vulnerable, allowing a grunt to have snuck up behind him. The Lance of Ruin stabbed the creature through its mouth, halting it in its tracks. Its owner twisted the lance before pulling it out of the hurlock, making a disturbing squelching noise that made Linhardt’s skin crawl.

“Oh, it’s you, Linhardt. Sorry, thought you were a girl,” Sylvain said.

“You’re an idiot,” Leonie called out. 

“What did I do?” Sylvain asked, his voice a few octaves higher.

“Either make yourself useful or go find a grandma to hit on,” Leonie said, swiping a hurlock across the neck from atop her horse. The equine turned around to kick it in the face. The grunt practically went flying, its body an armored projectile that crashed into a few bolters. 

Sylvain was visibly flustered now, “Where did you hear that?” 

“You and Ingrid aren’t the most discreet of conversationalists,” Linhardt told him. Sylvain looked down at Linhardt with wide eyes.

“Oh, Goddess, you heard it, too?” his face paled. 

“My friends, I think it would be best if we remained focus on the situation at hand?” Lorenz pleaded, trotting back with a young girl gripping tight at his waist. As soon as she saw the crowd of civilians at the entrance of the village, the girl dropped down from the horse. She ran towards an older woman who recognized her, and the two met each other with open arms. 

“Lorenz, did you hear that conversation, too? The one I had with Ingrid?” Sylvain asked in desperation. Lorenz looked away from the Guatier heir and sped off back into battle, leaving him to stew in his own misery. That was a definite yes. Sylvain closed his eyes, sucking a breath through his teeth. If the darkspawn didn’t kill him, embarrassment would surely do the job just as well. “Goddess, end my life.”

“You only have yourself to blame,” the wyvern rider Linhardt had just saved spoke up. 

“Shut up, I don’t even know you,” Sylvain said, cheeks flushed.

* * *

The Flame Emperor approached Solon in the middle of the battle, but they did not say a word. 

“Do you need something?” the Agarthan questioned his ally.

“This Blight,” they said. “You never told me about this.”

“What a disgusting word to describe what we do. Think of it more as an Apotheosis. _ The _ Apotheosis. And besides, there wasn’t anything you needed to know,” Solon smiled. “I am sure you could defend yourself. If anything had happened to you, we would simply liberate you as well.”

Liberate...was what they, the Agarthans, called it. The Flame Emperor knew it well, not the process of it, but what it created. Soldiers with nigh infinite stamina and strength. In turn they had a voracious appetite to keep up with the energy they expended. One look at the Death Knight was all the Emperor needed to know of its effects. 

“This just seems excessive,” the masked individual said.

“This is what you wanted,” Solon said simply.

The Flame Emperor physically recoiled in disgust, “How could I want anything that remotely resembled _ this _?”

“You are smart, do not tell me you cannot see the benefits of The Apotheosis?” Solon talked to them as if they were a _ child _, but the Emperor refused to lose their leveled head. 

They took a deep breath, “What, pray tell, are these benefits?” 

“Why, think about it, dear,” Solon mused. “If the Church remains at the forefront in combating The Apotheosis, how difficult do you think it would be for them to also defend against your forces?”

“You are telling me to attack them once they are at their weakest,” the Emperor concluded.

“Precisely,” Solon’s smile grew wider. “The end justifies the means. And your means just so happens to coincide with ours.”

“I assure you that it does not.”

“Then tell me, why are you on this side of the battle,” Solon pointed to the forces fighting the darkspawn, “And not with them?”

He was met with silence. When Solon turned around, the Flame Emperor was nowhere to be seen. When he returned his attention before him, Byleth was already up the stairs, Sword of the Creator in hand and looking awfully peeved.

The last thing he expected was the woman to kick him _ in the face _. Before anyone could comprehend what had just happened, Byleth sped off again. In her place was a wagon full of explosives, inching towards them at a faster pace than normal. 

“What in the world-” Solon couldn’t finish his thought process, as the barrels detonated, taking out a few of the hurlocks that made a barrier in front of him. For creatures who fought on instinct, their reaction was quick.

It did not stop the Sword of Creation from wrapping itself around his person, however, and he felt himself being pulled backwards. Byleth kicked him in the back to stop him, and Solon felt his organs shift around on impact. She held him down with a boot held firmly against his shoulder, “Why are you doing this? Grey Wardens are supposed to fight _ against _the darkspawn.”

“I have no idea what a ‘Grey Warden’ is, but I assure you, Fell Star, I am where I’m supposed to be,” Solon grimaced at the pain. Before him, the hurlock squadron was being decimated by the Church’s minions. Solon clicked his tongue. He needed to escape. 

“What are you-” Byleth’s interrogation was cut short with a shining light that blinded her. Solon disappeared from her hold, putting her off balanced. Byleth managed to regain her footing, but she still couldn’t see. She tried to rub her eyes, to get rid of the blindness, but it was of no use. 

“Professor!” Raphael called out. It was followed by the sound of the undoubted noise of someone—or something—getting decked in the face. 

“Professor, are you alright?” Ignatz’s voice asked her. 

“I can’t- I can’t see!” Byleth said, trying hard not to panic. “I can’t see!”

“Ignatz! Protect the professor while we clear out the rest of the horde,” Hilda ordered him. 

“Right!” he replied. Soon, a smaller presence was next to Byleth, “Professor, it’s me,” he said before grabbing her by the shoulders, pulling her body closer to his. Byleth’s hand reached out to feel his face. Her fingers touched glass, indicating she had just found his spectacles. 

“Ignatz” Byleth breathed heavily. She started to slow her breathing, she can’t freak out in front of her students. “What’s the situation?”

“We’re almost done,” he informed her. Ignatz then tried healing her eyes with the little faith magic he knew. The professor had previously told them that it would be good if they all knew at least one healing spell, a precaution for their own safety. Unfortunately, this was an effect that couldn’t be cured with magic. “It looks like most of them are starting to retreat. Felix is getting better with his magic, I think he just took two down with one strike. Wow, Lysithea is really strong with the Gloucester relic.”

“That’s my little war machine,” Byleth said as she blinked furiously to regain her vision. Her vision was still hazy, but she could now make out blurry shapes. “That was a joke, by the way.”

“I know,” Ignatz replied, unsure if it was a rhetorical statement or not. Once the last of the darkspawn was driven away, including the Death Knight, Byleth finally had her vision finally coming back. She went to find her father, who was now being circled by Monica.

“Thanks, mister!” she cooed. 

“Run along now, kid,” Jeralt ordered, visibly uncomfortable. He was in the right, though, as Monica whipped out a dagger to stab him in the back. His reaction was quick, turning around to stop the blade, but Monica was quicker. She instead stabbed his stomach, making her giggle.

“You know, you should be on our side,” she said, smiling eerily. “Instead you’re just a pathetic old man who refuses to celebrate The Apotheosis. And that is _very_,” she said, pushing the blade further in with every word, “Stupid. Of. You.”

Jeralt started to cough up blood. Byleth saw red as she turned back time. A sudden sound emanated from Byleth’s throat that scared the redhead so, it managed to distract the assassin for a split second. A guttural noise that was more akin to that of a beast than it was human followed next. “Monica!” 

Jeralt heard his daughter’s cries and turned around immediately, stopping the sloppy strike successfully. The former captain managed to wring the dagger away from Monica, but not before getting his palm sliced against the sharp blade. 

At first, Byleth wanted to just kill Monica as fast as she could, so she swung the Sword of the Creator at the girl. Solon showed up, blocking her attack. “You cannot die just yet, girl,” Solon informed Monica.

In a fit of fury, Byleth reached out her hand and pulled on Solon’s blood before ejecting him from the scene. The old mage hit the trunk of a tree, knocking his consciousness out of him.

“What in the-” Monica said, unable to comprehend the mage’s sudden exit.

“Byleth, don’t!” Jeralt called out to his daughter. But Monica’s body tensed up. 

She started to whimper, “W-what’s going on? I can’t move,” Monica stammered. She then started to _ scream _. The noise she was making was like something out of a nightmare. The visceral wailing soon started to sound garbled, as blood was beginning to block her wind pipes, filling her lungs. Her skin started to ripple like the surface of boiling water, steam even started to hiss out of her ears. Monica was starting to choke on her blood now, unable to talk as she gargled her own fluids. 

“Byleth, stop!” Jeralt ordered his daughter.

_ Pop _.

Monica’s face was a bloody mess, with every orifice having just exploded with blood. Byleth breathed heavily as she tried to remain standing. Jeralt was the first one to cover the distance, wrapping his arms around her and petting her hair. 

“I’m afraid to ask, but where did you even learn blood magic, Byleth?” her father asked her.

“I was taught by the best,” Byleth replied, her breathing almost leveled already.

“Who—okay, I know for a fact that _ I _didn’t teach you,” he said. He pushed her away to take a better look at her face. His eyes grew wide, “You didn’t make a deal with any demons, did you? The one back in Redcliffe castle wanted to teach you blood magic, right? The desire demon in the Arl’s son-”

“No, I didn’t let that demon take over Connor for power, papa,” Byleth said, slightly offended he would assume that of her. She pointed at her father, “You taught me.”

“I did not,” Jeralt frowned at the accusation, “I would have remembered.”

“You’re just _ such _ a good teacher,” Byleth said dramatically. “I learn by just watching.”

“How you even manage to learn solely on demonstration is beyond me, kid. Don’t do it again.” Jeralt sighed.

“Oh, so the lyrium tattoo on my back is just for show?”

Her father pinched the bridge of his nose, “I taught you how to jump, not to boil someone alive.”

Byleth shrugged, “Fair enough.”

“You sure love to test my patience,” Solon interrupted the moment as he stood up. “But you do have my thanks in keeping her alive.”

Sure enough, Monica was still breathing—if you could call it that. It was like she was a fish gulping for water while on land. The girl was practically drowning in her own blood, but couldn’t move or even cry out for help. With a shaky hand, she reached out to Solon, who was sauntering over to her at a leisurely pace. 

“You stay away from my father,” Byleth warned, jumping in front of Jeralt to use her body as a shield. 

“Do not worry,” Solon replied as he stood above Monica. The old mage leaned over to stab her in the chest with his hand, grasping at her heart. “This one is for you.”

Byleth squinted, “What-”

Before Byleth could utter another word, a dark portal opened in front of her, pulling her in. _ Well, fuck_, Sothis’s voice was the last thing Byleth heard before she blacked out. 

* * *

“Professor Byleth,” Seteth sighed, “I would like to apologize for what my sister had done to you.”

Byleth quirked an eyebrow as she sipped her tea, “She actually confessed?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “To call it disturbing would be an understatement. She’s still my sister, but I don’t know if I can trust her after all that she’s done. Do you know of the details regarding your birth?”

After Byleth had woken up from the whole debacle at Remire village, and her whole impromptu dye job (it is much bigger than that, and Sothis would be very mad if she just called it that) Jeralt had given her his diary to read. 

_ “You know a lot more than I do, so there’s no point in keeping my secrets.” _

_ “This is just about you gushing about mom,” Byleth had said as she flipped through the pages quickly. _

_ “Just flip to your birthday.” Jeralt said, exasperated. _

“There was a complication, so Rhea intervened. I survived while my mother passed. Since papa doesn’t know what she did, I do not know the specifics of it, either,” Byleth said.

Seteth nodded, “In order to grant you a chance at life, my sister gave you our mother’s crest stone. It would explain why you can use The Sword of the Creator without one. It is because you have it inside of you. You _ are _ the crest stone.”

“Let me guess, it’s on top of my heart,” Byleth said. “I don’t have a heartbeat. Did you know that?”

“I see. A consequence of her actions,” Seteth muttered. “I can only imagine how much worry that must have caused you and your father. I have to humbly once more request for your forgiveness.”

“You’re not the one that did human experimentation,” Byleth hummed.

“Byleth, you are taking this quite well,” Seteth pointed out.

“I have made peace with it,” Byleth looked down at her tea cup, tracing its mouth with a finger. “But I have to apologize for something as well.”

Seteth frowned in confusion, “I do not see how you are in the wrong in this situation.”

“Ah, you see. To escape that spell Tomas...Solon? To escape the spell he put on me, Sothis had to give me her power to escape. Did you know that at first, she could converse with me? She could talk to me, berate me, and even laugh with me. At first, I thought it would be nice if you could hold a conversation with her through me, to help her regain some memories that she had lost. But when she gave her power to me, to become fully a part of me, she disappeared.”

“I see,” Seteth said quietly, taking a sip of his tea.

“Now it is my turn to be surprised at how well you are taking this,” Byleth wondered out loud.

“I have lived for a long time.” Seteth said, “And I have lived _lifetimes _without my mother’s presence. It has been millennia since I have gotten over her passing. Something my sister clearly had not done.”

“Well, in a way, I’m your mother,” Byleth said with a bemused expression. “If it makes you feel any better-”

“Absolutely not,” Seteth rejected the offer. It would have been so much fun making Flayn call her granny, though! Byleth snickered at the thought, covering her smile in the process.

“We all face trauma in different ways,” Byleth nodded, “But your sister clearly needs help. I don’t think she can do this alone.”

“Clearly not,” Seteth agreed. “Look at what she’s done to countless newborns in my absence.”

Byleth choked on her tea, “_Countless? _” she rasped. 

“...Did I not mention? You are not the first,” Seteth blinked. He did mention it, didn’t he?

The professor coughed until the tea was out of her windpipe, shaking her head and pounding on her chest all the while. “No,” she wheezed. “No, you forgot to mention that little tidbit of information, there.”

“My...apologies,” Seteth awkwardly took another sip.

“Seteth, you _ really _need to help your sister. She is unhealthy.”

Seteth sighed, “I know.”

“She is literally abusing her power. Everyone trusts her to lead them, and she uses that trust to punch a rock into babies?”

“Believe me, I know,” Seteth’s eyebrows scrunched together. “I know. Wait, punching? You think she punches the stone into the infants?”

Byleth shrugged, “I don’t know. Isn’t she like insanely good at fisticuffs?”

The visual image of his sister using her fist to punch his mother’s crest stone into a wailing infant was not something Seteth’s mind should imagine, nor did he want to. But he did.

“Goddess, I hope not,” Seteth muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be more sporadic as school starts next week. :^ )  
Thank you for reading!!


	9. Now it's time to say goodbye...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth cries for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...turns out Seteth and Rhea AREN'T siblings. But for the sake of this fic, let us pretend they are, aight?
> 
> Anyways, long time no see everyone! I'm still not back from hiatus because gee wizz university is a lot more intensive than community college! But here's my Holiday present to you all. Updates will be more sporadic now, unfortunately.
> 
> In other news, I found out how to implement the em hyphen in Google Docs! Yeah, that's right, you all thought I was using the hyphen wrong but it was just Google Docs! Wonder why they don't auto-replace (--) to (—). Y'know. Like Word does.

“Oh, professor. Here’s that book you’ve been looking for,” Sylvain said, giving her a tome. The teen was carrying even more books in his arms, which were piled high and no doubt weighed incredibly heavy. 

“That is quite the collection you have there, Jose,” Byleth took the book as she eyed the tower of tomes. There were no real theme between all the titles, looking more like an assortment of subjects gathered over the span of months rather than specifically chosen books for the benefit of studying. Byleth organized the papers on her table to allow Sylvain to offload his burden, to which he gratefully took the offer. She looked at the cover of the book she had just received, eyes widening in surprise. “Jose, I needed this book months ago. Where’d you find it?”

“Hilda,” Sylvain said simply.

Byleth nodded her head in understanding, “Ah,” she replied. “That would also explain...this,” she waved vaguely at the tower of books. 

“Why yes. Yes it would,” was all he could say before returning to his task at hand. He picked up two of the texts and walked over to the shelves to find their placements. Byleth couldn’t continue further into her own book, however, as Cyril approached her at her table.

“Yes, Cyril?” Byleth asked the young boy.

“Lady Rhea tells me to tell you that she needs to speak with you,” he answered.

Byleth closed her book, audibly sighing, “Alright. Let us hear what she has to say, now.”

Cyril gave her confused look, “Lady Rhea wants to talk to _ you _, I need to continue my chores.”

She gave him a blank stare, “Of course, Cyril.” 

“Well? Are you going or not? It is rude to keep Lady Rhea waiting.”

“I am, I am,” Byleth stood up. Oh, how much cuter he’d be if he just...toned down the Rhea obsession a little bit. And by a bit, Byleth meant a whole lot. “Hey, Jose. While you are at it...”

“I will put your books back for you, professor,” Sylvain replied without the need for Byleth to even ask him. His back was turned to her, as most of his focus was on the task to re-shelve Hilda’s books. Goddess, how were they ordered? Who’s the new librarian? Where were they? Were they a girl? A hot one? The last one was of course Sylvain’s own wishful thinking.

“Thank you,” Byleth gave him a wave, something he did not see, before exiting out of the library. Whatever it was, Byleth hoped it had nothing to do with Sothis.

* * *

“Tell me again why you want me to sit on this throne?” Byleth pointed at the familiar stone chair, eyeing Rhea carefully. 

The Archbishop hesitates only for a moment before she replied, “It is for you to receive your revelation, of course. Once you sit on the throne, you will be able to unlock the fullest extent of your being-”

“Rhea, you’re still trying to revive your mother through me, aren’t you?” Byleth questioned. 

Rhea does not visibly flinch, but she does clear her throat. “It has been brought to my attention that my actions were disturbing and in the _ wrong _, and as such I am to cease and desist the course of actions to complete my task. Therefore, it would be logical for me to deny your accusations, however, this opportunity has brought itself to our-”

“Just say yes and get it over with, Rhea,” Jeralt interjected her rambling, already looking exhausted. 

“I do not remember inviting you, Sir Jeralt,” Rhea said, smiling that fake smile of hers. 

“I want him to be here,” Byleth told her. 

Jeralt in turn gives Rhea a poignant glare, “Well, I think I’m allowed to be present when the creepy religion lady once again tries to use my daughter as a catalyst for her devious plans.”

“Hey! How dare you call Lady Rhea creepy!” Cyril, who is now being very obvious he had been eavesdropping, intervened. 

“Not now, Cyril,” Rhea, Jeralt and Byleth all snapped at him. The young boy was taken aback by the words, as if they had physically slapped him. If it was anyone else, he would have simply brushed it off. But Lady Rhea had also accosted him. “Y-yes, Lady Rhea,” he whispered, visibly sulking. The young teen moped off somewhere else in the sanctum, dragging his feet as he did so.

“So like, what exactly is going to happen to teach when she sits on it?” Claude asked, popping up from behind Byleth. “Is the Goddess just going to be inhabiting her mind like she did previously, or will she manifest physically as teach? Her personality isn’t going to just be overwritten or something like that, right?”

“Oh...I was not aware you were informed of the situation,” Lady Rhea gave a non-answer, beaming her strained smile. 

“Oh, I told him,” Byleth informed her.

“Why...would you tell him?” Rhea asked slowly, the tightness in her throat audible for all to hear.

“Because he asked,” Byleth answered, shrugging. What? Claude was going to find out sooner or later anyway, and she would have rather told him than have him...reading her father’s diary or something. When he was still alive no less. 

Rhea fumed like she blew a gasket...mentally in her head, “I...see...” she turned to Byleth, “Professor...if you please...the throne?”

“Sure. But if I get ejected out of my own head I am returning to this plane to haunt you, Rhea,” Byleth said, taking her spot on the throne. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t a chair you can lounge in, either. How did Sothis ever sleep on this?

“I don’t understand. Everything was perfect,” Rhea solemnly said, eyes downcast. 

Byleth jumped off the throne, “Well that was a thing I had to wait a whole moon to do.”

Suddenly, doors to the sanctum shot open as a wave of unwelcomed individuals intruded the holy tomb. No, they weren’t bandits. Or the Empire’s soldiers. Why would they be here? That’d be ridiculous. It was, however, Edelgard and her fellow classmates following hot on her heels. 

“Professor! Lady Rhea!” Edelgard shouted to garner their attention. 

Rhea frowned, “Young lady, it is quite improper for you to barge in her like this. I would expect someone of your status to know better.”

A flash of an unknown emotion appeared in Edelgard’s eyes, but it dissipated as soon as it had appeared. In its place was a look of concern and worry. “I am sorry, Lady Rhea but this is urgent. It is about The Blight. I have received news from my father that his men have encountered a large concentration of darkspawn near the Morgaine Ravine. Both he and I have come to the conclusion that the Archdemon rests in the area.”

Rhea’s eyes widened, “Sir Jeralt, what do we do?”

“We have to act quickly,” Jeralt replied. “We need to gather as many troops as possible to face the situation head on.” He turned to Edelgard, “Can we rely on your soldiers to bolster our numbers?”

Edelgard nodded, “A portion of our men are already camping near the opening of the ravine, pushing back their forces. We are not chasing after them, like you advised, but merely keeping the border. The rest of the Adrestian army is ready to attack at any given moment.”

“So this is it, huh? We’re really going to end it just like that?” Claude asked, “It seems like we’re going to finish it before it even really got started.”

“Trust me, Claude. You do not want to see what it is like for them to get started,” Byleth warned her student. 

Claude raised his hands up in a defensive posture. “Wouldn’t dream of it, teach.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for the entire monastery to gather their forces. Everyone was coming along. It was strange to have all three houses on the same mission, but desperate times calls for the entire calvary. That is how the saying goes, right? Soon, Byleth found herself hunched over an open fire, scraping up the last of her stew. After she finished, Byleth put her bowl aside, sighing with content. She almost drifted off to sleep right then and there, staring into the dancing fire. 

“Are you sure you have had enough, professor?” Leonie asked. 

Byleth looks up at Leonie with a curious look, “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just that you usually eat 10 meals a day,” the girl answered. 

“Hey, papa eats a lot, too,” Byleth pointed to her father. 

Jeralt scoffed at the accusation, “Kid, I need to eat a lot because of my warden blood. In your case, it’s just you.”

“You have to tell me your secret, professor!” Raphael said, laughing uproariously. 

Byleth bit her tongue, resisting the urge to make the _I’m_ _eating for two_ joke. Instead, she answered seriously, “I have a high metabolism. I can eat for forever if everyone allowed me to.”

Claude smiled, “You’d run the kitchens dry out of ingredients at that rate.”

“I actually supply the kitchens with the ingredients needed for my extra meals.”

Leonia shook her head, “How do you manage to schedule your time with all that stuff on your plate?”

Byleth shrugged, “What can I say? I work hard, I eat hard, and I play hard.”

“Now that’s a life lesson I can get behind!” Raphael beamed, slapping his thigh. 

It was then that she noticed Dimitri, who was staring at Edelgard, who looked paler than usual. She looked antsy, as if she was on edge. Byleth became very worried, it was so unusual to see the princess in such a frazzled state. Hubert was nowhere to be found, either. Odd. Byleth excused herself as she got up. Once she was right next to Edelgard, the princess actually flinched when she noticed Byleth’s presence. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not a darkspawn,” Byleth said.

“Sorry, professor. I guess I’m just nervous,” Edelgard meekly replied. 

“Mind if I sit down?” 

Edelgard scooted over, “Not at all, professor.”

Byleth took her place besides the princess, and the two of them soon realized how awkward the situation was. Byleth and Edelgard didn’t exchange words for what seemed like hours (in reality it was like five minutes, give or take) while the rest of the Black Eagles were conversing with each other like normal, and nothing seemed out of place. 

Well, if one didn’t count the fact that they were camping out in the woods in preparation for a battle that would decide the fate of Fódlan in their teenage hands. Oddly enough, however, it was calming in a way. Students were mingling with each other, even having interhouse conversations. Linhardt was sat next to Caspar, for example, not to mention Felix and Sylvain were enjoying a moment of respite with the Blue Lions. Huh, did that even count has interhouse since they used to belong to the house they were conversing with?

“Professor, have you ever been in a position where no matter which path you choose, you can only foresee discourse emerging from your actions?” Edelgard suddenly spoke up, pulling Byleth from her trance (she was staring at the fire again). “One path would achieve your goal at the cost of chaos and turmoil, while the other will sacrifice your dream.”

“I’d simply create an alternate path,” Byleth answered, a bit taken aback by the philosophical discussion. She looked down at her palm as she stretched her fingers. “One where I can reach my goal without having to risk happiness and peace.”

A small smile appeared on Edelgard’s lips, as if she was saying, _ that sounds just like you, Professor _. But the smile soon vanished, “But life doesn’t always have pretty endings that you can just pin a bow on it.”

Byleth looked at the horizon, noticing the sky was paling, signifying the sun’s return to the sky. Not like she could see the sun now anyways. She missed sunlight. “As long as I breath and have full reign of my actions, I will find a way,” Byleth told Edelgard, facing her direction now. “With these hands, I’ll carve a new path without compromise.” The determination in Byleth’s eyes made Edelgard gulp, making the princess realize her throat was dry. She was parched. Edelgard couldn’t stop staring...

“Lady Edelgard, it is time for us to join your troops,” Hubert appeared like a shadow. Byleth wished he would stop doing that. 

“Right,” Edelgard said, tearing her eyes away from Byleth’s gaze. She looked at the rest of her house as she stood up. “Black Eagles, we are to merge ourselves with the Adrestrian army.”

Most of the house got up to follow Hubert, who was leading them to their stations. Caspar remained on the stump he was sharing with Linhardt, looking a bit peeved.

“What? We’re going to be in the rear?” Caspar whined, winding up his arm. “I wanted first dibs at those darkspawn freaks, especially that Archdemon.”

“Really now? Do you want to trade places with me, by any chance?” Linhardt asked his friend. Caspar, bless his heart, eagerly looked at Edelgard and Byleth for affirmation. 

“This is an order, Caspar,” Edelgard firmly stated. “We are at war, not a field trip.”

Caspar’s shoulders visibly sagged as he too got up and followed the others. 

“Do not be forlorning, Caspar, I am sure we will also be engaging in the fighting soon enough!” Petra encouraged the boy. Bernadetta in turn retreated into her hood, pulling it up over her head as she emanated a whine from her throat.

“Besides,” Edelgard added, “We are going to flank.”

This earned a smile from Caspar, who was practically bouncing on his feet in anticipation.

“Come, Linhardt, we should reconvene with the others,” Byleth pointed at the rest of the Deers. 

“Whatever,” the healer muttered as he got up to join his house. Even though his professor seemed eager to get this battle over with, there was a pit in her stomach that threatened to burst.

The plan was simple. Half of the army was to be the first contacts coming down from the north, with the Adrestrian army flanking from both the east and west. The students were to be in the center, escorting Jeralt in a smaller group to avoid detection by the darkspawn. Once in the ravine, Jeralt will then pinpoint the location of the Archdemon to which then they will engage in battle with the being. And then the last blow will be made by Jeralt, who will then-

Byleth didn’t want to think about it. She refused to. Jeralt had convinced her that there was no going back now, and Byleth had to believe—had to trust him. Even if the pit in her stomach is screaming at her to run, to take her father with her, she remained. The pit was gnawing at her, and quite frankly it was getting quite annoying. Maybe Leonie was right. Maybe she didn’t have enough to eat and this was just an empty stomach gurgling. 

She....never knew what it was like to be hungry. And not skipping breakfast and having a large lunch hungry, but proper, starvation that consumed your body hungry. Even as a toddler that couldn’t speak or cry, Jeralt kept her fed. He made sure of that. It was proved useful that she was easy to coerce into eating as she was a compliant child, but regardless. He kept her fed. She knew that at times, Jeralt would give her his meals when they didn’t have enough. She always had clothes on her back, and warm fire or shelter to sleep beside. If they didn’t have enough coin, he would work manual labor to pay for the rooms they stayed in. These times were brief lapses in Byleth’s memory—but they stayed with her. Sir Jeralt, an apparent Knight of Seiros, raised her to the woman she was today.

And he was going to die within the next few hours. 

Byleth didn’t know how to feel about that, and all she wanted was the pit in her stomach to go away. But it didn’t. It continued as to claw at her as the Fódlan forces met with the darkspawn army. The sounds of casualties were already resonating in the dusky air. It continued to stab her in the right places as the smell of blood and gore reached her sense of smell. It was a sign that they were nearing closer. From her peripheral vision, Byleth could see the Adrestrian army appearing from the sidelines, ready to charge in at any moment. The second they did, it would create enough chaos for Byleth’s unit to break through the darkspawn defenses. 

But they did not. 

Because at the front of the army, where Byleth had expected Edelgard to be, was the Flame Emperor. 

* * *

If anything, the sense of déjà vu allowed Jeralt to react even faster this time around. Images of Ostagar flashed in his mind as soon as Byleth pointed out to him the figure of the Flame Emperor. In a brief moment of delirium, he saw Loghain in the Emperor’s place. Alistair took the place of his daughter. So was he Duncan in this situation? 

He refused to be Duncan in this situation. Duncan didn’t have the experience. Jeralt and Byleth exchanged a nod before they cut off the darkspawn’s access to their troops. With a wave of their hands, a wall of frost pierced from the ground, impaling a few of the creatures on the way. The structure towered above the Seiros forces, who heeded no mind as they continued to slaughter the few that remain on their side of the wall. 

“The Adrestrian army is allied with the Flame Emperor! Retreat!” Jeralt ordered. The call snapped several soldiers from their bloodlust, and panic rose as they finally saw the gravity of the situation. 

“Do not panic!” Byleth cut in. “Flyers and horses, get as many people as you can without endangering your ability to flee or unnecessary strain on your mounts. We have to move it, people! Now, now, now!” 

Everyone sprang into action. It was just on time too, as the darkspawn realized they could go around the ice sculpture to meet with their prey—or better yet, climb the wall—and were now emerging from the other side like cockroaches. The wall creaked under the weight of the darkspawn as they scaled the walls. It was not going to last long. 

Byleth hopped on Jeralt’s horse and they were off. As they fled, Byleth continued to fire spells at the darkspawn, encouraging others with ranged abilities to follow suit as they continued to retreat. The Adrestrian army was merely watching as the darkspawn finally managed to break down the makeshift barrier Jeralt and his daughter had erected. As soon as the obstacle was gone, the creatures screeched in triumph as droves of the tainted beings rushed at the retreating forces. 

Some of the horses were taken down instantly, being too close to the barrier in an attempt to rescue those in the danger zone. Hurlock bolters calmly took aim and managed to take down a few of the aerial units. Jeralt did not have the time to think about the dying screams of his comrades. He had to survive. _ Byleth had to survive _.

A pegasus landed in front of their path, startling his horse. Jeralt calmed the creature as fast as he could before leaving the fallen soldier behind. He didn’t even stop to see if the rider was still alive. He didn’t have the time.

It was hours until they rested, being able to finally put a great distance between themselves and the horde. 

“What do we do now, Captain Jeralt?” Leonie asked him.

Jeralt didn’t hesitate, but even he could hear his voice full of uncertainty.“We need to regroup for now. 

“I am going to have her head,” Dimitri seethed, alerting everyone to his presence. The prince’s eyes had changed, now resembling that of a crazed madman. Gone were any hint of common reasoning upon his visage. His bloodlust could be felt in the air as everyone took a step back. Everyone but Felix.

“And so the true boar prince finally reveals himself to us,” Felix quipped, earning a jab to the ribs from Ingrid.

“We need to keep our composure,” Jeralt warned, “Otherwise we could harm our chances to strike back from ill gotten mistakes.”

Dimitri’s change in demeanor was alarming. Jeralt had not spent as much time with the prince as frequently as his daughter, but he had been around the boy enough to notice the jarring change of character. Jeralt approached Dimitri and looked him in the eyes, as the blues of the royal stared back with hatred. 

“Do I make myself clear?” Jeralt asked, his voice low and authoritative.

Dimitri let out a breath, the sound resembling more to a snarl than anything. A sickening smirk crept upon his lips, “Crystal,” he replied.

Jeralt nodded, it was better than nothing, “Right. How quickly can you call in your army? Can they come by week’s end?”

“Wait, are we going to engage with the horde again so soon?” Byleth took a step forward, concern in her eyes. Odd. 

“There is no telling how much damage will be done, it is better if we act as fast as we can,” Jeralt told her. There were no Grey Warden treaties to rely on this time around, no long time allies to call upon. The only option was to hit fast and hit hard, an unexpected tactic from their retreat. It would surely be to their advantage to strike in a way that was unexpected. They had to get the darkspawn before the horde grew stronger, stronger than what they were now. 

“But a week? So soon?” Byleth’s voice pitched higher at the end of her sentence, hinting at her uncharacteristic loss of composure. 

Jeralt quirked an eyebrow, unsure of what was going on, “Kid, what’s wrong? Get a hold of yourself.”

“I need to be sure that you want this,” she told him.

A frown appeared on Jeralt’s face. It was unusual, for the two to have differing opinions during a time of crises. “It’s not a matter of what I want. We need to end this Blight as fast as possible, there is no other way.”

“You know that is not true,” Byleth said slowly, her voice slightly shaking.

_ By the Maker _, Jeralt thought as he let out a deep sigh. He had assumed Byleth had come to terms of what was to come. Apparently he was drastically wrong. Byleth was obviously having doubts, and yet Jeralt was strangely calm. 

He had made peace that he was going to die in order to end the Blight. Jeralt was the only one that could defeat the Archdemon, after all. Byleth knew that too. It was inevitable if they wanted to save this world. Why was she having doubts now? She was fine with it not too long ago—even being part of his squad to confront the Archdemon. His daughter would have been there to witness him take down the Archdemon. She’s already seen someone do it before.

Alim popped into his mind, the young Grey Warden that had killed their final adversary during the Fifth Blight. The mage’s fluid movements with the sword he held with confidence was a sight to behold. His skills honed through vigilant and dedicated training were evident in his swordsmanship. Not six months before the Battle of Denerim, Alim had never picked up a sword in his life. With the intensive training from his teammates, however, the final strike of Alim’s sword was beautiful. The adrenaline that must have been pumping through his veins-

Oh.

Could it be?

The adrenaline of the battle had worn off. Byleth’s emotions were back in check. With idle hands and empty thoughts, her mind must be doubting his sacrifice once more. Technically he had just escaped death, and now he's right there in front of her, planning his next move to run back into the jaws of death.

“Byleth, I think _ you _ are the one that needs to ‘want’ this. You need to be sure you will be an asset to our forces. And to do that you have to be fully on board to confront the horde when I say we do,” Jeralt said, voice full of dominion.

Byleth wasn’t deterred, “You fully know that this is a rash decision. There is no way we can garner enough allies to take on the horde within a week. Last time it took us almost a year-”

“We don’t have a year,” Jeralt barked. “This army is stronger than the one we previously faced. They can move faster, strike harder, think smarter. We don’t have time to waste. My decision is final, Byleth. If you won’t listen to me, I will have to remove you from the fight.”

“This is ludicrous, you can’t do that,” Byleth countered.

“I have the authority to give orders that supercede yours,” Jeralt said. “You might be a leader, but this is in my area of expertise, and I can’t have you jeopardizing my jurisdiction.”

“We can strike in five days,” Dimitri inserted himself back into the conversation. Right, this guy. He turned to Byleth, his smile almost sadistic, “I will be using your strategy, professor. Using aerial mobility to our advantage will cut down on travel time. It would allow me to return to the Kingdom to call for reinforcements quickly. Pegasi and wyverns can carry half the troops over to our destination, as well.”

Jeralt nodded at the preposition. “Calvary will be limited but that will have to do. What about you, von Riegan? Think you can also mobilize your troops within five days?”

“It’ll be tough, but I’ll do what I can,” Claude replied. 

“Everyone is just itching die, aren’t we now?” Byleth crossed her arms as she pouted her lips. It was the first time Claude had seen her so juvenile. Even when she participated in his antics and pranks, she had a mature air around her. It was like nothing could faze her, or keep her from maintaining composure or a level head. But now, here she was, on the verge of throwing a tantrum like a child being told they weren’t allowed sweets. This side of his professor was different. Just as Dimitri’s demeanor had also changed. The sudden personality shifts in his allies was astounding to him. 

“Enough of this, Byleth,” Jeralt said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We are not going to entertain your persistent badgering any longer. Another more defiance of my plan out of your mouth, and you are out of the battle. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Byleth grumbled under her breath. 

Jeralt nodded, “Then we are all in agreement? In five days time, let us end this Blight for real.”

Cries of agreement of troops rang through the forest, but from the corner of his eye, he could still see that Byleth remained quiet. Her eyes were covered by her bangs, making it impossible for him to gauge her current state of mind.

* * *

It truly bothered Byleth, that her father couldn’t understand why she was mad at him. Not mad, per say, but reluctant in following his orders. For all her life, Jeralt had only thought about themselves, jumping worlds when things got tough, or at least compromising for her wellbeing. But now, when she still needed him in her life, Jeralt was fine with throwing it all away? 

Byleth was currently full of bitterness and sorrow, and Jeralt was clueless to her plight more than ever. He had thought she was being moody because of her lack of adrenaline! It was so much more than that. An anger suddenly bubbled within her, a sensation she recognized from facing Monica. How could Edelgard do this?

Was she allied with the darkspawn? The faux ‘Grey Wardens’? Why would she do this? Her knowledge on the history of this world was unclear, so it was kind of a hassle to keep things straight. Claude had attempted to fill her in, but there were so many houses, names, and territories to keep track of. She was hired to be a war instructor, not a historian. Overall, the Golden Deer house was practically a third party to the tragedy that happened a decade or so ago. Even then, she could see the effect it had on her pupils.

But what did stick to her from Claude’s history lessons was Edelgard and Dimitri’s relationship. They were siblings. Step-siblings, but siblings nonetheless. And in the Tragedy of Duscar, Dimitri had lost his parents. His father and step-mother, to be precise. _ Edelgard’s _ mother. If Edelgard were truly allied with the Grey Wardens, and if Dimitri’s crazed lunacy were to be true, it would mean Edelgard was in cahoots with those that committed the treason. 

She’s heard of crazier stories about Orlesian nobility. But this wasn’t Orlais. In this reality, Byleth had no choice but to believe that Edelgard had conspired with unknown forces to kill her parents, and now to Blight the world she resided in (and since Claude was distantly related to Dimitri, it meant that all of this was some kind of fucked up family squabble—at the cost of hundreds, maybe thousands of lives). That couldn’t be right, could it? The anger in her subsided. Something was amiss. Edelgard was a child when the Tragedy had happened. And now, she was barely an adult—surely she doesn’t know the extent of her actions in allowing the Blight to happen? 

Byleth closed her eyes, taking in the current information, all of her experiences about this situation from the past and present. Five years ago, a similar event had happened. Fereldan was prepared to take on the horde before the Blight could happen. Many allies were present, but they were still in need of Loghain’s forces—a commander of the royal army. It was planned for Loghain to charge in to help with the battle, but instead he pulled back his forces, allowing those engaged with the enemy to become overwhelmed. If it weren’t for Flemeth, Jeralt had told her, the last of the Wardens would have been killed the night of the Battle of Ostagar. 

In Loghain’s case, as contrived as it might have been, his goal was to remove Cailain from the throne. The Teyrn truly believed the young king was unfit to rule, and wanted to use the guise of the Blight to abdicate him. Luckily for him, three Grey Wardens had survived, and Alim was ready to sacrifice his life to end the Blight. All three of them were, Byleth realized. She couldn’t help but let out a wry laugh—even back then Jeralt was willing to leave her for the greater good of others. 

“You’re starting to look like the boar prince,” Felix had told her. Byleth simply waved him off—she needed to be alone. 

She knew Jeralt, he is where she got her stubbornness from, afterall. He wasn’t going to move from his position. So Byleth was going to cherish the last moments she had with him. Edelgard had given her a second chance, as short as it may be, to be with her father. She just hoped she wasn’t going to let her emotions get the better of her down the line. Five days. Byleth had five days. 

The five days went by faster than she would have liked. It was almost a blur, and Byleth could barely count the number of times she had time to spend with Jeralt. They were both needed in the preparations for the attack. Jeralt, particularly, knowing more about the darkspawn than she. Instead, she helped organize the troops, which units to go where, the attack patterns they would take, and the like. 

The Monastery was getting fuller by the hour, with more reinforcements and supplies pouring in. Many no doubt, had sought sanctuary within the Monastery walls, fearing the darkspawn’s approach at any second. The horde had dispersed itself within the Empire, moving west, seemingly doing their best to avoid Garreg Mach. 

It was a strange tactic, one that put everyone on edge. None have been spotted in the Kingdom of Faergus, nor were any reported in Leicester territory. The darkspawn were solely focused in congregating inside the Adrestrian Empire. It was...disconcerting. But it did prove one thing. It proved that Edelgard was a participant in their madness. Willing or otherwise, Byleth did not have all the clues just yet. 

Soon, all of the needed reinforcements arrived, and the knot in Byleth’s stomach grew tighter. The trip back to the ravine was uneventful. They were of course, met with resistance. But they followed a plan that proved fruitful to a success. As most of their allies were airborne, the ground units’ prerogative was to take out the bolters. 

The closer they got to the ravine, the thicker the horde became. The skies were long greyed out since their approach, and only darkened as they inched closer to the source of the Blight.

Inside the ravine was darker. Darker than one would have liked to be fighting even darker adversaries. But even in the darkness, Byleth could see the familiar green hair belonging to the petite figure that was Flayn. It suddenly hit her. Flayn was here, fighting alongside her. Seteth was no doubt nearby, and no doubt he had told her of the possible identity of the Archdemon. 

Indech or Macuil—either way she spun it, Flayn would have to encounter her uncle in the depths of the ravine. An uncle she has yet to meet, probably, but an uncle nonetheless. Seteth, if he were to join them, would be confronting his brother—or a corrupted version of him, a shell of a person that he once knew. It wasn’t only her that was going to lose someone today—and she was too selfish to even notice. Byleth could only berate herself at this lapse of human decency. She tried to calm herself, but the tightness in her stomach refused to dissipate. 

“He’s near,” Jeralt’s voice jolted her out of her thinking. They had found an entrance that was dug out by the darkspawn that lead deeper into the earth. The tunnels were like that of an ant colony’s, twisting and turning them around. They would have been lost without Jeralt to guide them.

“This is really close to the surface,” Byleth stated. She noticed that the walls around them looked recently carved, fresh. “I’d thought he’d reside somewhere deeper underground, at least somewhere like the Deep Roads.”

Jeralt nodded, “I guess they had to make do. They didn’t have centuries to make a nest.”

“So you think they came from Thedas?” Byleth asked.

“I do,” Jeralt said. “Which is a good thing, I suppose. It means that defeating the Archdemon would probably make the rest easy to wipe out.”

“But that means they somehow made it across,” Byleth pointed out. “Do you think they were summoned? Somehow crossed the Fade? Do you think the ritual was involved somehow?”

“That is something I do not want to think about, right now,” Jeralt sighed. “But the Wardens no doubt made an alliance with them.”

They soon came across a natural cavern of some sort, their path across being a rickety bridge. The crossway was suspended high up in the darkspawn den, high enough for Byleth to touch the stalactites. If one were to fall off the bridge, they would no doubt meet their demise. Two large beings rested on the floor, obscenely large and grotesque. Their top halves looked reminiscent of a human being, but if a human had their bottom jaw removed and replaced by a sunken beast's maw. The only visible human-like appendage they had were arms, mutated and twisted, ending in dark claws with hardened and reddened skin. Their bottom halves were another story, a sack of pulsating flesh, adorned with tentacles and large, sagging mammillary glands in the numbers that no human should possess. 

“Broodmothers,” Jeralt informed them. 

Flayn whimpered, looking awfully pale—paler than usual. She could have become one of those things. Her fellow female compatriots thought the same, looking grimly at the spectacle below them.

“Well, should we neutralize them?” Lorenz asked. “They might have been once human, but now they’re birthing our adversaries. Would it not be advantageous for us to take them out, preventing for the horde to create more soldiers?” 

“Now hold on,” Hilda countered, “We need to take out the Archdemon—like we planned—as soon as possible. We have no time to waste on the broodmothers.”

“We’re already a small group, is it wise for us to engage with the enemy?” Ignatz reasoned. “We don’t know how strong they are.”

“They’re not particularly mobile, but they will call for reinforcements if attacked,” Jeralt told them. “Most darkspawn are currently busy with the frontline, but we have no idea how many are in the tunnels. We can be easily overwhelmed if we’re not careful. If we call for backup, however, we can stand a chance.”

“Captain Jeralt, you’re not really thinking about splitting the party, are you?” Leonie asked.

“I think they’re giving birth,” Lysithea told the crew. Sure enough, miniature darkspawn creatures emerged from the broodmothers, already walking and screaming. There were about a dozen or so from each of the broodmothers, crowding around each other. They then started to fight one another—animalistically so. Some have already died the second they let out a wail of distress.

“What are they doing?” Raphael asked the question that everyone was wondering.

“Looks like we’re not going to fight the broodmothers anytime soon,” Jeralt said. “The darkspawn newborns fight to the death, to weed out the weak, so to speak. It’d be a mess if we were to interrupt them now. Come, we should focus on the Archdemon. We can always deal with them on the way out.”

The teens’ eyes lingered upon the sight in the depths below from the safety of the bridge. Byleth had to call out for them to hasten their pace. It was a visceral display, but somehow it encapsulated their attention. The distraction made Byleth not think about the Archdemon only for a moment. And now that they were back on the path to the Archdemon, however, the uneasy feeling reappeared. The roar of the Archdemon made her stomach lurch. They were so close to the being, now. 

“Byleth and I will scout ahead. Everyone else remain here until we signal to attack,” Jeralt ordered the team. Everyone gave signs of agreement, whether verbal or otherwise. Once the two were far enough from the group, Byleth couldn’t keep her thoughts inside her any longer.

“Let’s jump,” Byleth said. Her mind was shouting at her to stop, but her voice kept rushing out of her mouth. “If we jump now-”

Jeralt looked at her with sad eyes, a tint of disappointment on his face, “And let the darkspawn tear this world apart?”

Air escaped from her lungs without words. This was cruel. Why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be her father?

“You don’t have to go through with this. We can leave _ together _.”

“Let’s say we do jump. We jump knowing full well that it is impossible for this world to defend itself. We jump knowing that we are damning this place, the people, your _ students _ . That will _ destroy _ you, Byleth. It will hurt you more than anything else.”

Byleth looked down. “You don’t know that. You’re more important.”

“I’m going,” he told her. “That is final. Go back with the others.”

“Papa!” Byleth rushed towards him, only to be stopped in her place. The familiar tugging sensation in her blood hit her like a brick. He’s holding her in place with his blood magic. He’s making it impossible for her to stop him.

“You can’t go,” Byleth pleaded. “If you go, you’re going to _ die _.”

“Then you can say that this is my goodbye,” Jeralt told her. He hugged her, but she couldn’t hug back. He’s going to let go any moment and she can’t even hug him back. Did he know this was cruel?

“Papa,” Byleth whispered, her voice faltering. Her vision was blurry as water fell onto her cheeks. What was this? What was happening to her eyes?

“Who would have thought that the first time I saw you crying...” Jeralt wiped a tear from her cheek, “...that it would be for me.”

“Papa,” it was getting harder to breath. 

“As strange as it sounds. This makes me truly happy.”

Byleth hiccuped, “If you stay, I’ll cry for you all you like.”

Jeralt chuckled at that, “I can’t, Byleth. You be good now, okay, kid?”

There was now a tingling sensation at the back of her head. “Papa, what are you doing? Papa, please-”

And then all Byleth could see was black. 


	10. A nap? In THIS economy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Invasion of Garreg Mach concludes a little differently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter was getting long, so I cut it into two! I have no idea when the next chapter will be done.

Byleth woke up with a jolt. Her brain couldn’t comprehend where she was at first, making her fully panic.

“Papa? Papa!” she screamed. She was frantic, now. Where was he? She struggled underneath the covers, kicking them, thrashing around to get them off of her. 

Hands firmly held her down, hushing her, “Byleth, please. Please, calm down. _ Byleth _.”

She knew that voice. Byleth looked up to be met with the visage of Manuela, concern etched into her features. She was in the infirmary. 

“Manuela, where’s my dad?” Byleth practically glared daggers into Manuela’s own.

Manuela darted her eyes from Byleth’s hold, “He died, Byleth. He died killing the Archdemon.”

“...No,” Byleth whispered. “No, no, no.” Tears appeared again, and she allowed them to flow. “I didn’t even say goodbye.” She _ couldn’t _. Jeralt purposefully made it impossible for her to stop him. To give him one last hug. To run after him. He made it impossible for her to be there when he died, to hold him in her arms. Now, isn’t that cruel? And Byleth couldn’t even complain about it to him. Because he’s gone. 

Tears flowed freely from her once more. He told her that she’d be removed from the team if she was defiant, but this? This was on another level that Byleth couldn’t comprehend. A sense of loneliness welled from inside her at her core, and it started to spread. Byleth felt as if she was sinking into the mattress, as if it was swallowing her whole. First Sothis, now her father?

Her heart can’t take anymore of this. 

“Hanneman will take over your class for a few days, if you would like, dear,” Manuela told her, patting her hand. Byleth just felt...hollow. “You just get some rest, now.”

Byleth didn’t say anything, looking down at the touch. She couldn’t cry anymore, even if she wanted to, her tears long dried upon her face. Manuela gave her one last reassuring pat before getting up. 

Byleth stared out of the infirmary’s window, watching the tree branches sway against the wind in silence. All of her students, even those from the Blue Lions, visited her. It was obvious, but it probably is best to mention that no Black Eagles were present on campus. Everyone was alive, even though Dimitri didn’t visit, Dedue was sure to tell her that the prince was alive and well—as much as he could be in his current mental state. Even the staff visited, Alois especially, telling stories of her father that eased the pain. 

It turned out she was out for days, her father’s magic was strong, no doubt about it. No one knew how to cancel its effects, and so everyone was forced to just wait it out. Byleth gave everyone quite a fright when Maneula found no heartbeat. She still had a pulse, however, and no one could even begin to explain how that was even biologically possible. After the pleasantries and get well presents, everyone went back to their day.

Then she was alone. The silence was overbearing, but Byleth couldn’t bring herself to leave the infirmary. What seemed like hours passed by before frantic footsteps could be heard by her door. Groggily, Byleth got to her feet, her legs aching from days of atrophy. Slowly, she made her way to the door, taking a small rest upon its wooden surface. She had to use all of her weight on the door to even budge it open.

Byleth just so happen to open the door as Cyril was passing by. The boy was in a hurry, just like those around him. “Cyril, what’s going on?” Byleth asked, her voice hoarse.

“Professor, you shouldn’t be up,” Cyril frowned. “You need your rest-”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Cyril,” Byleth snapped, making her voice harsher than she intended.

Cyril was unphased, “It’s the Adrestrian army. They’re attacking the monastery.”

_ Looks like Dimitri didn’t get his wish _, Byleth thought. “Where’s my sword?”

“Professor, you are in no condition for battle-” Cyril’s words died in his throat, his concern was lost on the injured party. Byleth was practically glaring at him. “Your stuff is in your room.”

“Thank you,” Byleth breathed. As fast as she could, Byleth hobbled her way to her quarters. Was this what Edelgard had planned all along? To weaken their forces from dealing with the Blight, then striking them during recovery? There were no doubt there were numerous casualties—her father being just one of many. But why was Edelgard doing this? What were her motives? Byleth wished she knew. 

But Byleth didn’t have to think about the internal workings of the Adrestrian princess—or was she the Emperor now? Byleth needed to defend the monastery. Jeralt was right about one thing during their last conversation, something Byleth wasn’t willing to admit then. If anything happened to her students, it would destroy her. Byleth was not going to let that happen. She couldn’t lose anybody else. 

Interestingly enough, Byleth felt stronger as she gripped the pommel of the Sword of the Creator. As she made her way to the battlefield, Ingrid’s desperate voice could be heard from across the entrance atrium.

“Leave him alone, Dimitri,” the noblewoman urged her friend.

Dimitri in turn had a forceful grip on Linhardt, slamming the healer’s back against a wall. Linhardt winced upon impact, but otherwise did not answer the prince.

“Answer me, traitor,” Dimitri hissed. He then grabbed Linhardt by the front of his collar, his knuckles pressed hard against Linhardt’s neck. “What is that woman planning?”

“_ Dimitri _,” Ingrid berated, taking offense of the accusation on Linhardt’s behalf. “Stop it.”

“Why should I? He is obviously a filthy Adrestrian spy,” Dimitri snarled.

“I am no such thing,” Linhardt managed to grit through his teeth. His voice sounded strangled.

“Liar!” Dimitri shouted, with his other hand the prince lifted up his pike, as if ready to strike.

“Dimitri, stop,” Byleth intervened, grabbing Dimitri by the wrist. Despite this, Dimitri’s hold on his weapon grew tighter under her hand. Even with her strength, she was no match for Dimitri’s power, so she was actually hoping he was willing to listen rather than act on impulse.

“Why are you two so keen in protecting this treacherous scum?” Dimitri breathed heavily. He didn’t lower his weapon, nor release his hold on Linhardt, who seems to be choking by now.

“We have no proof of his betrayal,” Byleth reasoned. 

“Are you blind? His allegiance with _ her _ is all the proof I need,” Dimitri said.

“But he _ isn’t _ allied with her,” Byleth continued. “He is in my house. I trust him. Now let him go. Don’t you have a battle to fight?”

Dimitri hesisted just a moment before letting go of Linhardt, who immediately hunched over and started to sputter and cough. Ingrid immediately appeared next to his side, one hand on his shoulder for support and the other caressing his back.

“You will soon find out how foolish that blind trust you have is,” Dimitri sneered. He tore himself from Byleth’s grip, stomping his way towards the exit. 

When Dimitri finally disappeared, Ingrid and Byleth let out a breath of relief. Linhardt in turn, finally managed to get his breath back. How hard did Dimitri press against his windpipe?

“I think it’d be safer if you avoid him for now,” Byleth told Linhardt.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he replied, gingerly touching his neck. 

“I must apologize for his actions,” Ingrid insisted. “It is deplorable for him to even assume you’re a traitor.”

“I don’t blame him. I used to be in the Black Eagles. He must think I had knowledge of Edelgard’s schemes,” Linhardt sighed.

“Well, did you?” Byleth asked.

“Professor!” Ingrid’s signature look of disapproval etched into her eyebrows. Byleth returned her expression with an equal look of _ what? _, with a matching shrug of her shoulders.

Linhardt did not seem to be offended, however, simply answering, “Although I still had conversations with those from the Black Eagle house, nothing...nefarious was informed to or spoken around me. Not even by Caspar. Whom you can all guess is not the type to be so tight lipped.”

“You don’t think Edelgard kept this a secret from all of her classmates, did you?” Ingrid asked Byleth.

“I don’t know what is worse,” Byleth gave a non-answer, “Edelgard recruiting everyone into her scheme over the course of the school year, or involving everyone at the last minute with no time to decide or even comprehend the situation.”

An explosion followed by screams from the outer walls alerted the trio of their current situation, reminding them that this was no time for idle chatter. 

“Linhardt, are you well enough to fight?” Byleth asked. The healer nodded and slowly straightened his posture. Everyone went their separate ways to ready for battle. The fields before Garreg Mach was in chaos, with soldiers and students from both sides everywhere, running, flying, fighting, defending, _ dying _.

Byleth passed by Raphael and Ignatz, who was helping people evacuate the discourse of war. With them were Ashe, Annette and Mercedes, with the latter individual giving immediate attention towards any person that had acquired injuries and was in need of medical care. 

The cavaliers were holding off as many forces as they could, making good ground to move the frontlines further and further away from the monastery. Aerial support was sparse, as the opposing side were actually hurling giant rocks on fire upon them. Eventually, the sky was deemed too dangerous, and the flyers were grounded for the time being. The monastery forces were doing exemplary work in their roles, but it also meant they were divided to fight and defend civilians. Byleth hated to admit it, but attacking the school was a good plan on Edelgard’s part—both in timing and in gaining a tactical advantage. 

Scanning the fields, Byleth strained her eyes to pick out any of her other students to gauge their whereabouts. She took a deep breath of relief as she saw Claude and Dimitri a ways away from her. They were defending each other against a small gaggle (that’s the word, right?) of Adrestrian soldiers, facing back to back against one another. At least the boy had calmed down enough to recognize ally from foe. That was one thing taken care of. 

As Byleth was readying her sword to engage in combat, a hand grasped her shoulder, holding her back. There was not a lot of force behind it, but it still had a lot of authority. The hand was Lady Rhea’s, her grip holding an unspoken order for Byleth to fall back. Even after all the fallout of their relationship, Rhea still wanted Byleth to be alive. The younger woman bit back the urge to question Rhea, would it not be more beneficial for the Archbishop if Byleth perished during this battle? That way, Rhea could retrieve the stone in her heart. She could try to resurrect her mother again, behind Seteth’s back or not. 

When Byleth had made it up the hill towards Garreg Mach, she felt a shift of energy in the air. Looking back, Byleth saw Rhea transform into a magnificent beast akin to a High Dragon, with all the accommodaties a noble beast should have. Replacing the porcelain skin of her human form, Rhea now was adorned with beautiful white scales and a regal, streamlined body made for combat. The woman turned dragon even had strong horns that pierced the sky and large, glossy wings that shone brilliantly against the afternoon sun. 

With a shout, flames flickered into existence from Rhea’s maw, turning into torrents of flames that burned all that it touched. Adrestrian soldiers attempted to dodge out of the beam of judgement, only to be singed—some were unfortunately burnt, their blackened corpse emitting a charcoal smell into the air. 

And then Rhea took off, the gusts of wind from her departure almost blew Byleth off balance. The professor had to cover her face with her arms defensively, with the winds actually feeling like stinging whips lashing her body. Once in the air, Rhea was able to use the fullest extent of her combat prowess, raining fire upon the Adrestrian forces. As if this was an expected turn of events, the enemy soldiers all turned their attention towards Rhea, weapons at the ready. 

Squinting, Byleth was able to see some had a device of sorts that resembled what one would use to shoot nets at prey. But this particular device was larger than what was expected, almost comically so, as it required a whole battalion to hoist it up. The enemy had several of these net devices, all pointing towards Rhea. 

Using glyphs to propel her forwards, Byleth was able to attack the closest adversary, who just so happened to be the one who was taking aim. Noticing a sound from their periphery, his comrades turned around to access the situation. It was to no avail, however, as Byleth was quicker, knocking quite a few of them off balance. With less manpower to keep the net/crossbow device up towards the sky, the nose of the weapon teetered downwards, dragging anyone who had refused to unhand down with it. 

Rhea noticed the unmistakable head of seafoam hair from the skies amongst the crowd. She let out a deafening roar before rushing to Byleth’s side. While she was diving, some Adrestrian soldiers that still could maneuver their giant Rhea-catching-weapon fired their nets. The nets were made of metal, and were weighed at the edges, with the intention of hindering Rhea’s flying ability. But that meant they actually had to successfully capture her first, and the Archbishop was much too fast for them. Rhea landed on the ground a few feet away from Byleth, the impact actually creating enough wind to force the soldiers off their feet, rolling over the weapon Byleth had just unmanned in the process. 

“Why did you come back?” Rhea’s voice was masked with a beastial growl. “I told you to leave.”

Before Byleth could answer, the ground shook beneath her feet. Rhea was also taken by surprise. It was at that moment of fleeting distraction that several nets wrapped themselves around Rhea, preventing her escape. Byleth too was immobilized, as the ground beneath her feet disappeared and she found herself slipping into the earth. 

Someone screamed her name, but her mind was whirling with too much adrenaline to notice who it was. Before her, Rhea was also falling, her wings clamped to her side by the weighted nets. The sound of hissing flesh suggested the nets were coated in something, perhaps acid? She was thrashing around in an attempt to get rid of her restraints, making the nets dig into her scales even more. Rhea’s fire was useless against the metal chains, only lighting the acid coating on fire, adding further damage to herself in the process. 

Using fire blasts in the opposite direction, Byleth attempted to propel herself towards Rhea. As she grabbed hold of Rhea, the Archbishop panicked at the unknown presence, rotating herself in such a way that launched herself into the side of the pit trap. It was so large, could it even be still considered a pit trap? 

Fortunately for Byleth, she was on the other side of Rhea, otherwise she'd probably have just been flattened. Also fortunately, Rhea’s fire had burned off any residual toxins on the chains. Unfortunately, however, the fire still made the metal extremely hot, burning Byleth’s skin like there was no tomorrow. Forcing herself to concentrate, Byleth froze the chains that she grasped in her hands, making sure to coat the weakest areas of the links. The ice spread throughout the metal, cracking into its foundation. With the dagger on her hip, Byleth struck at the ice. The chains were brittle from the sudden change from hot to cold, breaking almost immediately.

The plan had worked a little too well, as the chains ripped apart more than anticipated. The section Byleth was clinging onto ripped away from the others, making Byleth trail along Rhea, reminiscent of the tail of a kite. That was falling. Very fast. 

This freed Rhea of her right paw, thankfully, and the Archbishop dug her claws into the side of the newly made ravine. Byleth could feel themselves slow down, frantically praying to the Maker, Sothis, _ anyone _ to give Rhea enough strength to stop their descent before they became two disproportionately shaped pancakes. The _ prink prink prink _ of breaking chains alerted Byleth to the sight of her safety net (quite literally) starting to falter. 

“Oh for the love of—what kind of shoddy metalwork is this?” Byleth cursed to the heavens. Not able to properly sheath her weapon, Byleth held her dagger between her teeth, allowing her to grasp at the net with all her strength. The more she tried to worm her way up the net, the more it broke apart. Before Byleth could let out a vent of frustration, she was plummeting down into darkness. A non verbal scream escaped from Byleth’s mouth, allowing the dagger to free fall on its own. 

As she looked at the sky above at her dagger, Byleth noticed something behind (above?) it. She saw a figure that was rushing towards her. Her mind was hazy, but she could make out a wyvern rider. The identity of said wyvern rider, however, was a mystery to her. Who were they? Which side were they on? It hardly mattered now. Byleth could only stretch her hand forward to accept the offered lifeboat. A nimble hand grasped at her wrist, pulling her towards them. The wyvern was able to keep balance with the unexpected guest’s sudden appearance, maneuvering with grace as it made a perfect loop to escape the ravine. All Byleth could think about was how warm her savior was. 

The sun had blinded her once they peeked above the ravine, but soon Byleth was able to survey the carnage. Adrestrian forces were at the advantage now, nearing closer to the monastery with an alarmingly fast pace. Seiros forces (and also hopefully, her students as well) were starting to retreat and scatter. It was better if they lived to fight another day than attempt to hold back forces now. Today was their loss. Loss. The bitter word danced on Byleth’s tongue, making her frown. She had never lost a battle before. 

“Close one, eh, teach?” Claude’s voice chuckled in her ear. Right, of course it was Claude who saved her. 

“Where are the others?” Byleth asked.

“I don’t know,” Claude answered truthfully. “I lost sight of them when you and Rhea literally got swallowed by the earth. But odds are, they retreated on my command.”

Byleth nodded, “Good. So where are we going?”

“Almyra.” 

“Almyra? Why would we go there?”

Claude let out a nervous laugh, “Ah. Well, first off, there’s been a little secret about myself I’ve been keeping that would explain why we’re going. We won’t be like...shot down once we cross borders or anything, I swear.”

“What, are you the secret prince to the Almyran throne or something?” Byleth scoffed.

Silence.

“That was a joke. You’re supposed to either deflect or laugh,” she insisted.

“Unless...?” Claude coyly asked.

“Are _ you _joking?” Byleth accused.

“Not about this,” Claude told her. Well this was a thing that was happening. Who would have thunk. The Almyran crowned prince, attending school in Fódlan. “And before you ask, no. I’m not a spy or anything.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” Byleth defended herself. 

“I’ll have to take your word for it, teach,” Claude said. 

“Yeah, you better,” Byleth jokingly taunted. It was not even a second later when their trusted wyvern was struck with a javelin in the neck. The creature screamed in agony, abruptly leaning over in pain. It could no longer balance itself and its two passengers, plummeting to the ground below. From this height they would surely die on impact. Byleth was getting quite sick of falling. Even in their rapid descent, Claude had refused to let Byleth go, despite losing consciousness. Wait, he was unconscious? Byleth was hoping he’d be awake to deploy some wind magic. He had dabbled in the arts, picking up a spell that most definitely had proved useful during his pranks over the course of the year. 

“Claude?” Byleth asked. Claude did not reply. It was then she noticed that Claude was warmer than usual. Was he injured somewhere? A look at her hands answered her question. Blood. The pointed head of an arrow sticking out of Claude’s right eye was all that was needed to steal a gasp from Byleth’s breath. No more. She had promised to herself she would not lose anyone else.

In pure desperation, she time pulsed as far back as she could. She had never done the act in mid air before, but this was the best time as any to try it out. Byleth saw her vision distort in that purple aura as her power kicked into action. They had stopped falling. Then the two were falling up. They remounted on the wyvern, and the beast started to fly backwards. All of this happened in such quick succession that Byleth only needed to blink to find herself once again hanging haphazardly off the breaking metal net. She nearly cut her tongue on her dagger, which was now between her teeth again. 

This time, Byleth didn’t struggle. She waited. Sure enough, Claude appeared at her side, extending a hand. She graciously accepted, taking her seat on the wyvern. Claude was about to ascend but was stopped by Byleth, earning her a curious look.

Byleth put her away her dagger before replying, “They’ll shoot you out of the air. Let us lie low down here for a bit.”

Claude shrugged, “You’re the boss, teach.” They instead flew deeper into the ravine, leaving Rhea behind to catch her breath. The woman was a giant fire breathing monster, surely she could handle herself?

“With the school gone, I don’t think I’m your professor, anymore,” Byleth contemplated. Turns out, at the bottom of the ravine rested a body of water. Falling in that would have hurt just as much as landing on the earthen ground. “Besides, it was you who called my name just now, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Claude sheepishly answered.

“Just call me Byleth. Barely anyone uses it anymore, I quite miss the sound of my name,” she told him. 

“Whatever you say,” Claude hesitated for only a second before continuing, “Byleth.”

“Now, can we find a place to land? My hands are burning,” Byleth requested. Her palms were red from the fire-hot chains. The markings were definitely going to stay etched into her skin. Maybe it was time for her to get a pair of gloves, or something. Claude nodded and managed to find a rocky shore wide enough for his wyvern to land. To how he could see it in the dark was a mystery to Byleth.

“Byleth? I have something to tell you,” Claude said as Byleth dismounted from the wyvern. Right, they didn't have this conversation yet.

“Whatever it is, I swear I won’t freak out,” Byleth told him. She knelt down next to the water, plunging her hands in its cooling body. The cold water soothed the wounds on Byleth’s skin, but it did nothing to her body, which ached from exertion...yet at the same time, the dullness in her muscles felt like atrophy. 

“Odd choice of words, but thank you,” Claude said. “When it is safe for us to fly, I think it is best if the two of us go to Almyra...”

“Why Almyra?” Byleth asked, playing along. For some reason, she was really sleepy. So...so...sleepy. Her eyelids felt heavy, and it was difficult for her to focus on the conversation, despite knowing its conclusion. 

There was shuffling in Claude’s direction. “Ah. Well, first off, there’s been a little secret about myself I’ve been keeping that would explain why we’re going. We won’t be like...shot down once we cross borders or anything, I swear.”

“What, are you the secret prince to the Almyran throne or something?” Byleth scoffed. The expected silence followed. “That was a joke. You’re supposed to either deflect or laugh,” she repeated her words from before.

“Haha, unless...?” Claude jokingly offered. Byleth stood up from the shoreline and walked over to the wyvern. This tiredness shouldn’t be possible, since she had just woken up from a coma. 

“Okay. I believe you,” was all that Byleth said. She couldn’t afford to sleep now, not when they’re (literally) on the run. The Adrestrian army would no doubt eventually come down to check for their whereabouts.

“Y-you do?” Claude asked skeptically. The shock in his voice sounded genuine.

“As long as you bring me there in one piece. Speaking of which...Claude, catch me. I think I’m going to faint, now.” As she finished her words, Byleth’s body gave in, and she found herself passing out.

* * *

Sothis’s voice urged Byleth awake. In her fit of extreme slothfulness, Byleth brushed the goddess off, wishing to continue in her slumber for a few more minutes. Her brain finally connected the voice to the user, however, jolting Byleth awake in no time.

“Sothis?” Byleth called out. But no reply came. On instinct, she rubbed her arms, only to find herself to be wearing a cotton tunic of some kind, the wide sleeves ending below her elbows. Gone were her shorts and leggings also, replaced by lightweight trousers with a drawstring waistband. Where was Claude? 

Byleth practically jumped off her bed. A bed? The sudden distraction made Byleth trip over the rug, making her crash into the nearby bedside table, knocking it over. It took her awhile to get back up, having been entranced by the patterns on rugs and carpet in the room. Why did the room need so many? Why were they all so intricate? She couldn’t help but wonder how expensive they must be. 

“Claude?” She called for her former student. A look of her surroundings garnered greater concern. She had never seen a bedroom like this. The room was massive, bigger than her previous room at the academy. Heavy looking curtains adorned the room, piquing Byleth’s interest. She swept one of them aside, allowing a bright stream of light into the bedroom, almost blinding Byleth on the spot. 

Wherever she was, it was no longer Fódlan, that was for sure. The atmosphere was warmer for one, both metaphorically and physically. Was she in Almyra? Pulling herself from the window, Byleth called out to Claude once more.

Bursting through the double doors, Claude could be seen breathing heavily. Did he run here? 

“Byleth, you’re awake!” Claude exclaimed. Byleth saw that an arm of his was in a sling, causing the woman to in turn be worried for the other party.

“Claude, what happened?”

“Oh this? I just got injured on the way back to Almyra. It is nothing that won’t heal in due time.”

“I’m sorry I passed out,” Byleth said. “I don’t know how or why that happened.”

“You gave me a scare, but thanks for the warning. It was nothing I couldn’t handle,” Claude winked at her. His eyes turned serious. “There were a lot of casualties, Hilda has responded to my letters, but I don’t know about the others. Lorenz has also returned home, but House Gloucester has allied themselves with the Empire, which makes me worry about Lorenz.”

“Have faith in them, Claude. Especially in Lorenz. He is as loyal as he is a noble,” Byleth assured him.

“That is what worries me the most, Byleth,” Claude admitted. “As a noble, wouldn’t it be fruitful for him to stay faithful to his father? He is so adamant on being the pinnacle of all nobles, that I can’t foresee that being a traitor to his House as a ‘noble’ thing to do. It does not make sense at all for him to leave. This is war, I’m talking about, Byleth, not a school event or a mock battle taken too far.”

Byleth didn’t want to give Claude false hope, but she also didn’t want to write off Lorenz just like that. Even she was unsure of what the right course of action might be for the Gloucester heir. What was the Empire’s plan in creating such turmoil? “That is why you have to leave it for Lorenz to decide. You can’t force him to leave_ or _stay with his House.”

Claude sighed, fiddling with the braid in his hair. It looked like he didn’t style it today, making Byleth notice just how much longer his hair had grown. It was now long enough to frame his face as well as reach the nape of his neck. The dark bags under his eyes were prominent, and even his lips had lost that glossy shine it usually had. He looked tired. 

“Hey Claude, have you been getting enough rest?” Byleth rested a hand on his back.

“Byleth, I don’t know what to do,” Claude whispered. “They could be captured or even dead.”

“Who, Claude?”

“Any of them! I know Hilda’s safe, but I can’t fathom how the others are faring. No one from the Kingdom is replying, and I’ve been hearing rumors that His Highness has perished.” He rested his free hand on his forehead, eyes misty. “I don’t know what to do.”

Byleth didn’t know what to do, either. The two of them stayed there in silence for what seemed like hours, enjoying nothing but the quiet presence of the other’s company. 

Days idly passed as Byleth and Claude remained within the Almyran borders. They had decided the best course of action was to remain low until the situation had changed or an urgent matter had caught their attention. It was odd for Byleth at first, simply because she was essentially behind enemy lines, having been allied with Fódlan her entire stay in this world. Now here she was, in Almyra, being buddy buddy with the crowned prince of the nation of all people. 

It was a wonder at how friendly they were towards her, or at least the palace staff was. She had not taken the opportunity to venture outside the palace walls, for very good reasons. It was obvious how she stuck out like a sore thumb with her vibrant hair and eyes, screaming distinctly that she was not from Almyra. It would no doubt attract the unwanted attention towards her person. 

The first thing they had to rectify was hiding Byleth in plain sight. Her “disguise” was simple, Byleth had merely gave herself a haircut, leaving it just a bit longer than Leonie’s. To finish her new makeover, she opted to dye her hair a dark brown, fitting right in with the Almyran populace. There was nothing she could have done to change the color of her eyes, so the new hairstyle will have to suffice by itself. But another matter that was in her full control was a change of wardrobe too, because she was _ not _ going to suffer in the Almyran heat in all black clothing, aesthetics be damned.

Robes and sashes became a common apparel of both Byleth and Claude. Byleth now understood why Claude’s uniform breeches were cut the way they were. It was so airy and comfortable that Byleth did not know why she wore shorts for most of her life. The little garlands and poms poms filled Byleth with such jubilence that Claude had to talk her down into wearing _ too _many of them on her person. 

News of the ongoing war was a constant variable in Claude and Byleth’s lives. The battle between the Empire and the Kingdom raged on, becoming more of a war of attrition than anything. The southern front was gained, then it was lost, and then it was gained again. The Leicester Alliance had mostly remained neutral, but like Claude had said, House Gloucester as well as other noble families have decided to choose allegiances. Many had remained steadfastly loyal to the Alliance, but their resources were slowly waning as it had become more difficult to remain neutral. 

Claude and Byleth had to gather resources quietly beyond the borders to not arouse suspicion from either side. They were not going to let this war play out without their input, if they had anything to say about it. 

“News from the Kingdom has arrived,” Claude informed her one day, “Well, more like gossip has spread considering the Leicester Alliance isn’t really allied with the Kingdom right now. But Sylvain and Felix are both missing.”

“Is that a good thing? They’re not...dead, are they?” Byleth carefully asked.

“That, I do not know. But what I do know is how this will affect the Kingdom’s vulnerability.”

“Perhaps even enough desperation to garner an early alliance,” Byleth said, quirking a smile.

Claude gave her a smile back, appreciating their shared thought process. “Well, Rodrigue Faldarius is doing his best to run the Kingdom, but you have to admit, with half of the major noble heirs missing in action, including the crowned prince, the political tension in the Holy Kingdom is so weak that it can be broken with a butter knife.

“But that does not mean that they are so eager to open up their doors. So we have to still prove to them that we are a valued asset,” Claude informed his audience of one.

“And how do you propose we do that?” Byleth asked.

“Well, my friend. I think I may have found the location of a relic that can aid us in our venture,” Claude smirked.


End file.
